Setbacks
by Geraldine
Summary: I was thinking that it was great day. A Samcentric hurtcomfort story.
1. Prologue

Title : Setbacks  
  
Author : Géraldine  
  
Email : lazy.gege@ibelgique.com  
  
Category : ESF, pure, unadulterated ESF  
  
Rating : PG-13  
  
Summary : "I was thinking that it was a great day."  
  
Disclaimer : They belong to Aaron Sorkin, John Wells Productions, NBC, Warner Brothers, and I hope I haven't forgotten anyone. So obviously, they don't belong to me. I'm not making money for this story, I just have too much free time on my hands. So I'm begging : don't sue.  
  
Spoilers : Everything to Posse Comitatus is fair game.  
  
Acknowledgements : Thanks a lot to Emi, who beta'd the story and made sure I hadn't left too many mistakes.  
  
Setbacks  
  
Géraldine  
  
***************  
  
PROLOGUE  
  
Parking lot 11.20 PM  
  
Sam woke up abruptly and lay where he was for a few moments, disoriented by the suddenness of the feeling. One minute everything was completely black, the next he was wide awake.  
  
Well, maybe wide awake was overstating it. But he was awake. It felt like the drowsiness he sometimes felt when his phone rang in the middle of the night, tearing him away from his deepest sleep.  
  
But there was no ringing, and his alarm clock wasn't on either - the piercing shrill would have been unmistakable.  
  
And where the hell was he, by the way?  
  
He frowned a little. It was cold. And he was lying on his face, on something hard. Something dark.  
  
His eyes focused on the gravel and the dirt that were right in front of him and he thought vaguely that it looked a lot like the playground of his high school. He had had the misfortune of seeing it from exactly this vantage point after some of the fights he'd had with Bobby.  
  
But high school was over, wasn't it? Come to think of it, there was absolutely no reason he should be lying on the ground. He was a lawyer, no, a writer. And a staffer for the President.  
  
So what would he be doing on a playground?  
  
It had to be something else.  
  
And there were dark shapes all around him. Cars.  
  
So this would be . a parking, yes, it was a parking lot. That made more sense.  
  
Except . why was he sprawled on the ground in a parking lot ? Had he gotten drunk?  
  
"CJ's going to kill me," he muttered.  
  
Now that he knew what he was lying on, although the why part was still a complete blank, maybe he should get up and get moving, before an eager reporter could take a picture of the White House's Deputy Communications Director in a drunken state. He'd never hear the end of it, Josh would laugh, Toby would yell, CJ would slap him on the head, and yes, he definitely better get moving, because the ground was * cold *. And hard.  
  
He sighed and tried to lean on his arm to get up. The pain took him completely by surprise, and he fell again, the impact sending waves of pain through his body.  
  
He gritted his teeth, trying not to cry out, and tried to catch his breath. And to stop trembling.  
  
Okay, being drunk definitely didn't do that to him. Being drunk caused him to lose his balance, trip over things, smile like an idiot or brood, depending on his state of mind pre-drunkenness.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
Sometimes, it caused a headache the morning after, too. But never had it been the cause of such an overwhelming pain.  
  
What the hell was wrong?  
  
"Sir?" the male voice insisted.  
  
"Shut up, you see I'm trying to think here," he wanted to answer. But he didn't feel he had enough energy to do that, yet.  
  
"Sir, are you all right?"  
  
Another voice. Female, this time.  
  
Interesting question? Was he all right?  
  
No, he didn't think so.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
It was the first voice again, and it sounded much closer to him.  
  
"What?" he tried to say, but nothing came out.  
  
He felt hands on his back, prodding him, and suddenly, it came back to him.  
  
The hands in his pocket, the gun on his head, the voice against his ear, whispering not to move.  
  
The hands were continuing their exploration, and he tried to resist, to fight, but someone held him down and whispered to keep quiet, that they were going to help him.  
  
Was he supposed to believe that?  
  
Did he have a choice?  
  
He heard a voice, the female voice again. "He's bleeding. I don't see anything, it's too dark in here. Clark, go back inside and see if they have flashlights or something. And tell them to call 911"  
  
He heard footsteps moving away but the pressure on his shoulders and the hands on him didn't go away.  
  
"What the hell happened?" another male voice said above his head.  
  
"How would I know? I'd move him, but if his spine is hurt, I might - "  
  
"He shot?" Sam heard, and the voice stopped talking.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
He hadn't realized he had spoken out loud before a hand brushed his cheek gently. "Sir, can you hear me?"  
  
He nodded as best as he could.  
  
"Okay, where do you hurt?"  
  
Sam thought a moment. Where did it hurt?  
  
"Everywhere."  
  
"Can you move your legs?"  
  
Move his legs? Why would she want to know if he could . "Oh God," he muttered, as realization hit him.  
  
"Sir, don't panic. I'm just checking, okay?"  
  
He moved his legs a little, relieved when they seemed to be co-operating, and the visions of him in a wheelchair faded away.  
  
"Good, that's good. Can you tell me what happened?"  
  
What happened? That was a very good question. All he remembered was the pressure on the back of his head, and someone telling him to stay still.  
  
But how the hell had he ended up on the ground?  
  
"He shot. I guess. He wasn't supposed to shoot the cops always say they usually don't shoot why did he - "  
  
She cut him off. "It's all right, he's gone now. What's your name?"  
  
Sam decided that he liked that voice. It was soothing. Reassuring.  
  
"Sam," he said.  
  
"Hi, Sam. I'm Lizzie, and the guy there is Mark."  
  
"Okay," Sam muttered, feeling strangely disconnected. He tried to move a little to see Mark, but the hands on his shoulders stopped him again.  
  
"Don't move," he heard, the voice sounding further away than it had before.  
  
He tried to say that he wasn't going anywhere, but all that came out was a vague "mmmpf"  
  
"Sam, you still with me?" the woman, Lizzie, asked.  
  
Well, where would he go? He was just feeling a little cold, that's all.  
  
And maybe sleepy, but that wasn't surprising. He worked long hours at the office, and the hours had tended to be even longer than usual recently, so it wasn't too surprising if he was feeling like taking a little nap, really.  
  
Besides, he had taken the boat out today. It had been so long since he had sailed, since he had done any outdoor activity actually, that the ocean's breeze had tired him out.  
  
He had had a good day, and now he really felt like a little nap. He didn't think it was that much to ask, now was it?  
  
Surely not.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Hospital 1 AM  
  
Toby entered the ER and marched to the reception desk, not looking once at the people around him.  
  
The young woman manning the station was on the phone and he came to a stop in front of her, staring at her and waiting for her to acknowledge him. She ignored him, though, and carried on her conversation.  
  
"Yes, Sir, I understand, but this is the ER. You have to call 911 if you want an ambulance to pick you up."  
  
He waved a hand in front of her face and she frowned, gesturing toward the phone.  
  
"Yes, yes, I know," she went on, some impatience creeping into her tone, "but you said yourself that the cut wasn't that deep and . No, I understand. But we can't send ambulances ourselves. You have to call - "  
  
Toby decided he'd had it. He reached out, grabbed the phone out of her hand and hung up.  
  
The woman started and shot him a hard look.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said before she could say anything, "but a friend of mine was brought here a while ago. Sam Seaborn?"  
  
She seemed to hesitate a moment, obviously torn between the desire to yell at him for hanging up on a potential victim and the acknowledgement that the person she'd been speaking with wasn't seriously hurt.  
  
Toby put on his "Don't mess with me" face, the one that made everyone but his deputy and the President avoid him. It seemed to work. The receptionist didn't yell, and began to look through her files.  
  
"Sam Seaborn? Yes, he was wheeled in around an hour ago. I'm going to go look for the doctor who took care of him."  
  
She was about to leave when he grabbed her arm. "Wait? Is he . Can you at least tell me if he's alive? No one wanted to tell me over the phone."  
  
"I honestly have no idea," she said. "I'll be quick."  
  
She gave him a brief smile and gestured to the waiting room. "Why don't you go wait there? I'll come back as soon as I find someone."  
  
He nodded numbly and did as he was told, trying not to dwell on the fact that the woman who had called him at the office had asked if Sam had any family in town that she could call. He had already left, and gone home, waiting for Sam to call him and watch the game with him, like he usually did. After the first period, as it was becoming obvious that his deputy wouldn't call, he had headed back to the office to take care of some of the drafts he had left for tomorrow. He was just getting into his work when the phone had rung, and a nurse had asked him if he knew a Sam Seaborn.  
  
"It's nothing," he thought fiercely. "He took his boat, he fell and cut himself. He does that all the time. It's nothing." 


	2. Part One

PART ONE  
  
June 2002 (The same day) 4.00 PM  
  
Sam lay down on the deck of his boat, closed his eyes and tried to relax.  
  
The day was incredible - blue sky, calm waters, just enough wind to allow him to take his boat out for a while - a welcome change after two weeks of uninterrupted rain.  
  
The noise of the waves softly hitting the boat's bottom encouraged him to indulge in some daydreaming.  
  
Sam had always considered that the summer constituted a new beginning - not the spring, not the new year, but summer, when the sun was at his highest, the days were longer, and warmer. His friends often joked about it, saying it was his way to cling to his college habits, when summer also meant the end of an academic year, the return home, and the preparation for the next academic year. He didn't disagree, but he thought there was more to it than that.  
  
Summer made him see everything in a new light. It was in the hottest days of the year that he took resolutions, not in January. Summer made him optimistic.  
  
Or rather it used to, before Rosslyn, when his friend had spent weeks in a hospital, then months in his home, recovering from the act of three mad kids. And the summer after that had been spent wondering what was going to happen to him - would there be hearings, would people think he was a liar, would the staff get over Mrs Landingham? Some days, he still expected to see her scolding him. "You lost weight again, Samuel. Take a cookie." He smiled sadly. Everyone missed her, and last May, everyone had spent at least two days walking around gloomily - the anniversary of Rosslyn, the anniversary of Mrs Landingham's death.  
  
And then, Simon.  
  
Sam sighed and opened his eyes, staring at the sky.  
  
CJ hadn't been the same since New York. And the others, by reaction, weren't the same either. When CJ hurt, every one of them did too. She was often the one who took care of them and now that she had to take the time to mourn the wasted opportunity of her almost-story with the agent, they all wondered how they could help her back.  
  
Toby had tried more than once to get through to her, but she only seemed to withdraw more each time. His boss wasn't taking it well. He had known CJ for quite a while. Sam still remembered the tale of the Californian pool, when Toby had gone to fetch her for the Bartlet's campaign. Yes, those two had a history, much like he and Josh had known each other for long before the Bartlet days.  
  
Josh. The smile he had been wearing at the idea of CJ swimming in her dress vanished and he sighed inwardly. It seemed he couldn't get anything without paying such a high price. the whole year, the last three years in fact, had been a roller coaster. Each time they won something, they lost something bigger. Each time he was happy about something, something came along and took the feeling away.  
  
Josh, who didn't look at him in the eyes anymore, who hadn't since Sam had told him, one morning "The President talked to me last night."  
  
He often wondered what had happened between them. Did Josh regret bringing him on board? Did he think that Sam should have reacted better at all that had happened? Did he even like him anymore?  
  
After the MS disclosure, each member of the staff had put up his barriers, not letting anyone through. The man they trusted most in the world had betrayed them, and who knew where the next blow would come from? It was just safer that way.  
  
Sam still felt bad about the lie, even now - he understood that the President had wanted to keep his private problems, private, but he had to have know that people would find out the truth eventually. And he also knew that most of the people who had come to help him had literally turned away from their lives - granted, most of them didn't have all that much to regret, but still, it had been a leap of faith, and God knew they had been burned with this one.  
  
He had thought that after the censure, things would settle between Josh and him, but they'd only seemed to worsen. Each move one of them made to reach the other seemed contrived, forced. It was painful to do, and he was pretty sure it was painful to watch for the rest of their friends.  
  
There had been a few highlights - the Russia thing being the more obvious, when Josh had let him stand up for himself, had trusted him on an issue. And the State of the Union, too, when Josh had tried to help him face Lisa. Kind of. But how could he be sure he did these things out of friendship, really? To him, it looked almost as if Josh felt guilty about something, and tried to make up for it. Or worse, maybe he pitied him, because his idealism had taken blows and he had a hard time recovering from it.  
  
He sighed again, thinking back to happier times, of their days on the Hill. They'd always been different, in their way of treating people, in their way of negotiating, in their political views even, sometimes. And somewhere along the line, he had to admit that listening to Josh had begun to weigh on him. He wanted to make his voice heard, he didn't want to repeat whatever had been approved by his friend. And the methods Josh used, which he'd once considered to be born of experience, were now striking him as opposed to his own principles. He didn't like the changes he saw in his friend, and he didn't know how to deal with it. But he was sure he didn't want to play the youngest member of the team anymore, the naïve kid who knew less than the others.  
  
Maybe it was that, more than anything, that had put the nail in their friendship. Or maybe it was the tape. Josh hadn't said a word to him about that, and it had been worse than if he'd yelled at him. The only time Sam had tried to bring it up, he had just said that he didn't have the time, and walked away. Was he mad? Was he embarrassed to have recommended Sam to Leo? He didn't know, and the situation was uncomfortable - it was a point that didn't quite fit in with the rest of his life. It was always there, somewhere at the back of his mind, and it was getting irritating.  
  
Maybe they should address it. Sam wasn't someone who let his friends down, ever. If there was a way to fix heir friendship, he would try. But he was still reluctant to bring it up. Something told him that it would only make things worse. Friendship, when left unattended, has a tendency to fade out. He should have learned that after letting a few of his high school or college friends stay out of touch for too long. Something told him that at this point, any attempt to salvage his relationship with Josh would only result in making things worse.  
  
To bring it up or not to bring it up had become a pressing question for him. Maybe he should ask someone.  
  
Maybe he should ask Toby.  
  
His boss would probably groan that he was overreacting, but he wouldn't dismiss his concern. That's what he loved about Toby. He could pretend all he wanted that he didn't care, everyone knew it was just a façade. Deep down, Toby worried constantly about the people who were close to him. He just had a strange way of showing it.  
  
"I'm so proud of you."  
  
These few words from his boss had done more for his state of mind than three years in therapy would have. Toby's approval meant the world to him, it always had. And his "so you made a mistake, get over it already" attitude had done even more.  
  
Smiling again, he shot a look at the sky and decided to head home. He would probably be in time for the game. Maybe he would even have the time to grab something to eat.  
  
A pizza, he was in the mood for a pizza.  
  
A pizza, a beer, and the game. And maybe he'd call Toby, just for the sake of making him yell that he had work to do, damn it.  
  
His stomach growled and he smiled.  
  
Yes, definitely time to head back.  
  
* * * * *  
  
White House 9.00 PM  
  
Toby was at his desk, going through the last of the drafts Sam had prepared for him to take a look at. The president had quite a few events he had to attend, and he needed comments for them.  
  
"After all these years of Princeton and law school, he still doesn't know where to put a comma," he thought, vaguely amused.  
  
His deputy's style was an old argument between them. It had taken him a while to understand and admit why their team was so efficient. They completed each other perfectly. Sam's writing, too poetic, his own, too practical - the two of them could only write great speeches.  
  
Besides, the drafts showed him that Sam was indeed doing better. Toby had insisted to Leo that the younger man didn't need baby sitters, but he had been worried himself. Sam rarely exploded. With him, everything was quiet, even anger. Which didn't make him less dangerous, on the contrary. He had seen it countless times, like with Lilienfield, and after the shooting. Toby had screamed at a few people, Sam had calmly examined the possibilities of a lawsuit.  
  
He shot a look at the clock. Good, he had actually managed to do half the things he needed to do. It was as far from being over as it would get today, and there was a game tonight. Sam was going to ask him to come by, he just knew it. His deputy did that all the time, and never seemed disappointed when Toby sent him away harshly. But he also seemed glad when he accepted. Surprised, and happy.  
  
They usually settled on Sam's couch, drinking beer, eating Chinese, and screaming at the players. And talking speechwriting, of course.  
  
Once upon a time, Josh joined them on these gatherings, but he had been more scarce recently. Amy explained a lot of that, but he'd also noticed that the relationship between Sam and Josh had become more strained after the MS announcement. He sometimes wondered whether they'd ever be able to work it out. It didn't look like any of them made any effort to mend the fences, but then he didn't watch them all that closely.  
  
He sighed. They all needed to close up ranks, he knew it, and he had the feeling it was getting more urgent by the hour. They'd had a bad year, after two other bad years, and along the way, they'd stopped being the family they once were. Alliances had been forged, like between Toby and Sam, curiously, others had been disregarded, like between Josh and CJ, who didn't seem all that close right now. They needed to band up for re- election, and to face whatever life would throw at them next time.  
  
But how were you supposed to put together such a bunch of strong personalities, he wondered, closing the door to his office.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Amy's apartment 9.30 PM  
  
Josh sat down contentedly in front of the TV and put his feet on the table. One look from Amy made him reconsider, and he put his feet on the floor sheepishly.  
  
"Don't get too comfortable," she warned, "we're going out."  
  
"We are?"  
  
"Josh! The party I told you about weeks ago? Don't tell me you've already forgotten."  
  
He had already forgotten, of course. He had about ten thousand things on his mind right then, between the re-election, Bruno's people, the bill they were trying to get passed and the fact that Donna wasn't talking to him anymore, again, because of some imaginary transgression. The last thing he wanted to do was attend a party, but of course, Amy wasn't going to take "no" for an answer.  
  
After a good half hour of cajoling, bullying and yelling, Josh was in his room, putting on a tuxedo and trying to look at the bright side.  
  
If only he could find the bright side.  
  
Amy was waiting for him in the living room when he came back, her arms crossed, a smile on her face.  
  
"You look good in a tux," she said.  
  
"I know," he answered smugly.  
  
She rolled her eyes. "Modesty, thy name is Joshua Lyman," she said under her breath.  
  
"That's what Donna keeps saying," Josh snickered.  
  
"Donna has all my compassion. Can we go now?"  
  
He sighed. "Who will be there anyway?"  
  
"You'll see when we get there."  
  
She was already dragging him by the arm when a sudden intuition made him ask, "Wait, don't tell me that Pete is going to - "  
  
Her face, suddenly guilty and worried, answered better than anything she could have said.  
  
"Oh, no! No, Amy. I hate that jackass."  
  
"He's not a jackass, he's just - "  
  
"Just a republican that's been on our case since day one of the administration," he completed sourly. "You're going to drag me to a party where I'll have to be polite to that scum?"  
  
She stopped in front of the door and looked at him for a while, chewing on her lower lip. "If you're really nice to him, there'll be sex by the end of the evening."  
  
He bit back his retort and pretended to consider her proposition. How do you tell your girlfriend that the prospect of having sex with her isn't worth being polite to a republican?  
  
Simple, you didn't tell her.  
  
He sighed and put on a smile. "Well, if you put it that way," he said, trying to fake enthusiasm as best as he could.  
  
She obviously didn't pick up on it, and smiled widely. "That's my man," she said approvingly, and Josh refrained from a grimace. "Come on, we don't want to be late."  
  
"No, of course not," he said, following her outside, and wondering what could possibly make his day any worse. 


	3. Part Two

PART TWO  
  
Parking lot 10.50 PM  
  
The noise level in the pizzeria was almost painful, Sam thought as he was going back to his car. It was one of the employee's birthday, and they were having a small party, the music as loud as they could possibly make it.  
  
Sam came out of the place, whistling softly on the tune that was on the CD player inside, his arms full with his food boxes - he had bought two pizzas, hoping that Toby would be able to make it. It was too late for the game, but maybe he could talk his boss into a late-night speechwriting session. The smell coming out of the boxes made his stomach growl. It had taken longer than he'd expected to come back and dock the boat - "I must be out of practice," he thought, deploring the fact. He hadn't eaten all day either, since he hadn't planned to spend so much time on the water. But the water had been so calm, the day so beautiful, that he had suddenly felt unable to deny himself that joy. Then he had spent some more time on the darkened boat, after he'd docked, listening to the silence and the faint lapping of the waves on the boat, enjoying the quiet.  
  
"Should teach me to take a sandwich next time," he thought. He was beginning to have a headache, as usual when he was too hungry.  
  
Coming close to his car, he fumbled in his pocket for his keys and unlocked the door on the passenger's side to put the boxes on the passenger's seat. His stomach growled again, and he sighed. He'd better hurry, or he was going to stop and eat it, right here, on the parking lot.  
  
He slammed the door, went around his car, and opened his door.  
  
He was about to climb inside when something cold pressed on the base of his skull.  
  
"Don't turn around," he heard.  
  
He froze, feeling as if his heart had stopped beating.  
  
"Get out and put your hands on the roof," the voice ordered again.  
  
He did as he was told, his mind insisting on bringing back images he had thought long gone - the crowd clapping, the sound of gunfire, Toby's scream, and CJ crying on Air Force One.  
  
He fought the urge to chase away the gun with his hand - the feeling of the cold metal on his skin was almost unbearable.  
  
"Don't move. Your wallet?" the man said.  
  
"In my coat's pocket," he said hoarsely, not daring to move.  
  
He tried not to grimace when his assailant's hand began to search him, and retrieved the wallet.  
  
"Your watch, too," the man said.  
  
Sam made a move to unlock the strap and take it off, but the pressure of the gun increased and he heard the man snarl, "I didn't tell you to move."  
  
Sam froze again, closing his eyes. He felt his aggressor fumble with the wristwatch and take it away, and he tried not to think that it was a gift from his mother. He'd buy a new one, she'd understand. But he loved that thing, a remnant from days when his family was still intact and his father still a giant who could make things better just by being there.  
  
"The keys are already inside?" the man asked.  
  
He almost nodded but stopped short, the command not to move still all too clear in his mind. "Yes," he whispered.  
  
The man's hand grabbed his shoulder, and made him move away from the car, then he spun him toward the parking lot's exit, never allowing him to turn back and see his face. Sam began to breathe again, telling himself that it was a good thing - if the guy didn't allow him to turn, that meant he didn't want to be identified later, and that meant he was planning to keep him alive.  
  
He hoped so.  
  
"Take five steps," the man said, his voice still low against Sam's ear. "Then, stop. And don't turn around."  
  
Sam did exactly as he was told, forcing his legs to move. They had all the consistence of melted butter, and he was covered with cold sweat. He also had a hard time to keep his thoughts from blanking so he focussed on all the statistics that said that they didn't shoot when you did as they said, thinking that most robbers didn't want to be prosecuted for murder if they were caught, thinking that maybe the guy would just climb into the car, start it up, and go away with it.  
  
He was so busy muttering to himself "pleasepleasepleaseplease" that he didn't even hear the sound of the gunshots.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Hospital 1.15 AM  
  
The man in scrubs went straight to Toby, the receptionist next to him. He looked drained, his features set in a hard mask. How many relatives did he see every day, how many friends waiting inside these walls, how many times had he had to tell a mother that her daughter was dead?  
  
Was he going to have bad news to deliver tonight?  
  
"You know mister Seaborn?" he asked without preamble, the receptionist touching his arm briefly and nodding to the reception desk. He gestured at her to go, and Toby saw her squeeze his arm slightly before she went away.  
  
"Yes, I know him," Toby said as the young woman took her place near the phone again. "How is he?"  
  
"May I ask who you are to him?"  
  
"His boss. His friend."  
  
"I see. Does he have family in town?"  
  
Toby almost screamed "Yes, damn it, he has us" but it didn't seem like a good time to argue semantics.  
  
"He's from California. I'm the closest thing right now, so how is he?"  
  
"He was wheeled up into surgery half an hour ago. He suffered a gunshot wound in the back. He lost quite a lot of blood on the scene before he was found, and the kidney was hit. He . The surgeon who's working on him is excellent."  
  
"But," Toby pressed, torn between the need to be reassured and the need to know, exactly, what they were up to this time - what Sam was going to have to fight.  
  
"We don't think . We think we may have to remove it."  
  
Toby gulped and stared at the doctor, who looked almost apologetic.  
  
"He can live with just one kidney," the doctor hurried to add, "but its still quite serious to - "  
  
"I get it," he snapped, cutting him off.  
  
He got it. If they had to remove it, Sam would have to be careful all his life. He would have to accept restrictions, and he'd be at the mercy of a malfunction of his other kidney.  
  
He didn't want things to come to that. Not after all they'd been through, not after the history they had with weapons, not after Josh, and Simon, not after the years of struggling they had just survived through. Sam was young, incredibly healthy, and this was all he got for his trouble?  
  
"Come on, Sir," the doctor said, "I'll have a nurse show you the waiting room upstairs. The surgeon will come talk to you soon."  
  
"Thanks. I'll also have to make a few phone calls."  
  
"There'll be a phone there," the man assured, and Toby nodded, already dreading the calls he was going to have to place.  
  
Fifteen minutes later, he was hanging up after speaking to CJ. He had begun with Leo, who had offered to speak to the President. That one had been relatively easy. It was easy to forget that Leo loved Sam very much, thanks to the gruff manners of the man, and his ability to think straight in situations like this. It had made him a lot easier to tell the bad news.  
  
CJ had been more difficult to warn. He had tap danced around the subject for quite some time, hating to have to bring it up at all. She'd finally asked what he'd called for, and he had spat "Sam's been shot," her short intake of breath making him berate himself for his lack of tact - an unusual occurrence.  
  
She hadn't said much after that, only that she was going to get dressed and she would be there in a good half hour. He knew he was going to have to send her back to the White House, but he also knew that she would never accept going to work before she knew how Sam was.  
  
He sighed, looking at the phone in his hand.  
  
He didn't want to be the one to call Josh.  
  
Someone had to, but he would rather have it be someone else.  
  
He hoped for a moment that Leo would have called him himself, then frowned at his cowardice. Leo was already going to have to warn the president, who had taken so badly the fact that one of his staff had been hurt last time. He'd have enough on his plate containing Bartlet's rightful fury.  
  
He dialed up. After six rings, a sleepy voice answered him.  
  
"What?"  
  
Better not waste time on subtleties, he figured. Nothing in the world would ever make it easier.  
  
"Josh I need you to come - "  
  
"No, Toby," Josh whined, "don't ask me to come to the office. I've just gotten to bed, I've had an awful day, Donna is mad at me and no one wants to me explain to me why, this damn bill isn't handling itself, I'm wiped out, I want to sleep."  
  
A feminine voice said something and Toby sighed again, closing his eyes. At least, Josh wasn't alone, because he was going to make his life even worse than it already was.  
  
He really wished he didn't have to play the messengers tonight. And while he was indulging in some wishful thinking, he really wished his deputy wasn't undergoing surgery right now, instead of being home, watching the game, drinking beer. But this useless hoping wouldn't help.  
  
He opened his eyes again, took a deep breath, and began. "Josh, we have a problem. It's Sam."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Forty minutes later, Donna stopped at the entrance of the room where Josh was hiding. He was sitting, looking through the window. He must have felt her presence, because he said, without turning back, "It wasn't supposed to happen again. It wasn't supposed to happen the first time, actually, but . Twice, Donna? Three, if you count Simon, four with Mrs Landingham, and in less time than it took us to complete a term?"  
  
She didn't know what to say, but he didn't seem to want an answer. She approached him and wasn't surprised to find out that he was rubbing his scar.  
  
He looked up at her. "I was complaining about my day," he whispered. "Because it's been bad and then Amy dragged me at this stupid party, and ."  
  
He trailed off and she leaned down to hug him. Nothing she would say would make him feel any better, she knew that from experience, but she could at least be there, like Sam, and Toby, and CJ, had been there for her after Rosslyn.  
  
CJ poked her head in, and Donna grimaced compassionately when she saw the dark smudges under the eyes of her friend.  
  
"We're all in the main room," CJ said, and went away without waiting for an answer.  
  
Josh and Donna shared a look and Josh got up. As they were leaving the room, Josh whispered "Thank you, Donna."  
  
She squeezed his hand and followed him out. 


	4. Part Three

PART THREE  
  
ER 12.00 PM  
  
It's the beeping that made him open his eyes.  
  
It was quick, and loud, and he wanted it to stop. It was keeping him from sleeping.  
  
He opened his eyes to ask if someone could keep the noise down.  
  
He closed them again when the bright light assaulted his vision.  
  
"Ben?" he heard a voice say near his head.  
  
"Lizzie?" he asked, hopefully. Lizzie was nice, Lizzie had tried to help him before.  
  
"Sam, can you hear me?" A male voice this time, on his right. He opened his eyes again and tried to focus.  
  
He nodded weakly, and his eyes finally made out the man, in scrubs, leaning over him.  
  
Where the hell was he now? He wasn't so cold anymore, which was a good thing. He hoped he'd never feel that kind of bone deep cold ever again.  
  
And he was on his back, too.  
  
And there were lots of people around him.  
  
"Good," the doctor said, seemingly oblivious to the thousand questions Sam would have loved to ask, had he had the energy to actually talk. "Do you remember what happened?"  
  
Sam tried to think, but he was too tired to think much more than "I'm tired" - not very helpful, under the circumstances.  
  
"Sam?" the male voice said again.  
  
"Tired," he said.  
  
"You'll be able to sleep soon, but I need to ask you questions before."  
  
"'kay," he sighed.  
  
"Do you have allergies?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Do you have a condition we should know about? Diabetes, epilepsy, ."  
  
Sam tried to concentrate on the questions, but everything was becoming blurry again.  
  
"What happened?" he suddenly wondered aloud.  
  
How had he ended up in a hospital? He was going to eat some pizza, what could have turned wrong?  
  
He saw the doctor look at the woman who was on the other side of him, then focus on him again. "You've been shot. In the back."  
  
Shot? Josh was shot, too. He almost died. Was he going to die?  
  
"No, you're not going to die," the doctor said, but Sam didn't miss the look he shot to the woman, and it frightened him. Were they lying because that's a charitable thing to do when someone is dying in front of you? Were they just trying to keep him calm?  
  
"Do you have someone we can contact?" the woman asked.  
  
He pondered that a moment. CJ had always said she was his first call, but that was when he had done something wrong, wasn't it? Had he done something wrong?  
  
"No, you haven't done anything wrong," the doctor said again, and Sam frowned. Had he said that out loud? "Who do you want us to call?" the doctor insisted.  
  
"Toby?" Sam wondered.  
  
Yes, Toby. Toby would come, he knew.  
  
"Toby Who?"  
  
Toby Who? What kind of a question was that? And how could they not know Toby? Toby was well known.  
  
"Sam, do you have his number?"  
  
"My phone," he said.  
  
"We didn't find it."  
  
That was odd, he always had his phone on him.  
  
Never mind, Toby was still at the office. He was always at the office after Sam had left, these days.  
  
"Sam, the number," he heard.  
  
He gave it quickly and everything went black. The last thing that he heard was the beeping of the machine next to him, so loud it seemed to invade his entire universe, not leaving space for anything else.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Hospital 2.30 AM  
  
"Did you hear something new?" CJ asked as soon as she entered the room again.  
  
"Not yet," Toby said.  
  
She collapsed on the seat next to his. "What happened?" she asked, for the fourth time since she'd arrived.  
  
He was saved from telling her once more that he had absolutely no idea when Leo entered the room.  
  
"No news," Toby said before he could ask.  
  
"You spoke to the police?"  
  
"Not yet."  
  
"I saw the agents who were on the scene, they're coming up to talk to us. And the secret services are locking the hospital up"  
  
"He's coming?" CJ asked.  
  
"What the hell did you think I was going to do?" an angry voice answered from the doorway.  
  
Everyone in the room jumped to his feet as the President entered.  
  
"What happened?" he asked, waving them back into their seats.  
  
"We don't know yet, sir," Leo said. "The police will be here soon," he added to Ron, who nodded.  
  
Bartlet made a quick scan of the room and asked "Where's Josh?"  
  
"He had found a quieter place to . think," CJ said. "I've gone to get him, he'll be here soon."  
  
As if on cue, Josh appeared, along with two police officers, one middle aged man and a young woman who wouldn't possibly be more than 25, who stood nervously in front of the President.  
  
"Sir, I'm Mike Sanderson, and this is Julie McFee," the man said.  
  
"Jed Bartlet, and these people are my staff," the President summarized. "What do you have for us?"  
  
The man sighed. "Not much, I'm afraid. Mr Seaborn briefly regained consciousness in the ER, but he wasn't coherent enough to give us anything. We questioned the people at the scene, but it seems there's no witness, no one heard anything, .. Mr Seaborn's car wasn't on the parking lot anymore, so we assume it was a car jacking, but we'll know more when he wakes up."  
  
"Why was he shot?" Toby asked.  
  
"We honestly have no idea, sir," the woman said. "Three people took care of him on the parking lot. They were coming in to buy pizza and then go to the girl's place to study. They're all law students. They saw him when they got out of their car, and tried to help me as well as they could, but they arrived after the fact, so they weren't able to tell us anything. Apparently, no one from the pizzeria heard anything, but according to the girl's statement, that's not surprising. When they arrived, the music was so loud they could hear it from across the street."  
  
So Sam had spent some time there, on his own, bleeding on the ground, Toby filled in, and his stomach contorted violently.  
  
Everyone in the room seemed mad, and he understood he hadn't been the only one to draw this conclusion.  
  
The President and the policemen talked for a while longer, but he wasn't listening anymore. He gestured to Leo that he was going outside for a while and the chief of staff nodded, his eyes sympathetic.  
  
Toby went out quickly. He didn't want sympathy. He wanted to catch the man who had done that and shoot him, then leave him on the ground, losing blood, alone, scared, in the dark. Barring that, he wanted to scream his lungs out.  
  
* * * * *  
  
CJ joined him a few minutes after the two policemen had gone. She sat on the bench next to him, and he marveled once again at her strength. He could almost believe that she was the one who handled this the best, if he hadn't heard her on the phone earlier. Sam and her had been friend from day one - but then it was hard not to be friends with Sam. Their bond had tightened after Rosslyn, although he'd never known why. He had thought that it was due to the fact that they were together that night, but something in the way they had looked at each other for a while after that made him think that there was more to it that just the consciousness of a shared tense situation.  
  
Josh worried him even more. Sam and him hadn't been close for a while, but it didn't negate years of friendship, a campaign, and four years of working together day in and day out. He was dead worried, not in spite of the state of his relationship with Sam, but because of it. Besides, the situation could only wake demons he hadn't slain yet, demons he probably would never get rid of. They were going to have to keep an eye on him.  
  
Donna arrived then, supporting Ginger. They smiled bravely, and they sat down, holding hands. "What would we do without them?" Toby wondered, not for the first time.  
  
"Josh says I hover," Donna explained. "He wanted me to leave him alone."  
  
"And I wanted to see how you were doing," Ginger added, looking at Toby, and the image of her face after Rosslyn came back to his mind.  
  
"Besides, it was becoming crowded in there," Donna smiled.  
  
"Josh?" CJ asked  
  
"Leo and the President are keeping an eye on him," Ginger smiled.  
  
"And who's keeping an eye on Leo and the President?" Toby wondered, and he grimaced when the women turned to him, a slightly amused expression on their faces.  
  
"They keep an eye on each other," Donna said. "And the First Lady is on her way."  
  
"That's the first good news of the evening," CJ muttered and Toby agreed with her. Abbey Bartlet was a force to reckon with. Once she was here, everything would get better.  
  
Or not.  
  
He looked at his watch, shocked to realize that only an hour and a half had passed since he had forced a receptionist to answer him.  
  
Ninety minutes, and he felt like he was going to explode .  
  
The night was going to be long. 


	5. Part Four

PART FOUR  
  
Hospital 3.00 AM  
  
Toby was staring at the door of the waiting room, as if sheer will would actually make it open on a surgeon who would tell them that they'd been wrong, that it was just a scratch, that Sam could go home now.  
  
"I'm feeling a certain big brotherly connection right now."  
  
He smiled, thinking back on that day. He had carefully avoided Sam's glance when he had said that, but he had felt him turn around and stare at him, and the President's half smile had confirmed his impression that his deputy wasn't expecting * that *  
  
Being yelled at by Toby and fired by the president, sure, but support . he'd been surprised, all right.  
  
For someone that frighteningly smart, his deputy had a tendency to be oblivious to other's feelings. Or rather, to the feelings he provoked in others.  
  
The fact that he was the youngest had awoken the protective instincts in each of them. He closed his eyes, not daring to imagine life in the communication's bullpen without his deputy. He refused to even consider the idea of going on without Sam. He needed his passion, his idealism, they all did.  
  
"Put him on a bus."  
  
"I'm talking about the next twenty years."  
  
He started when someone sat next to him. It was CJ again, and she was watching him with a kind smile. "I was thinking about the time he got creamed by Ainsley," she offered.  
  
"I was thinking about the day he said, and about a candidate for the supreme court, no less, "Put him on a bus". He was inspired that day. And he kept us from doing a huge mistake, too."  
  
CJ stayed silent for a moment, before saying, "He saved my life"  
  
He watched her, surprised. She went on, not looking at him. "In Rosslyn, when the shooting began, we were together. I don't even recall what we were talking about. Then there were gunshots, and I just stood there, wondering what was happening. He tackled me, dragged me down with him. Two seconds before the window of the car we were standing in front of exploded. If I'd still been up ." She stopped. Toby didn't find anything to say but she wasn't done.  
  
"He didn't tell me anything. When he saw I didn't know who had saved me, he didn't say. And when I understood, he said it wasn't important, and I said, "No, it's not. I don't owe you anything." Why did I say that Toby?"  
  
He smiled gently. "Because that's what he wanted to hear. You know how he is. He knows you're grateful, but I'm sure he didn't want your relationship to change."  
  
She reflected on that for a while, then nodded slowly. "Still," she muttered.  
  
"I know," Toby said.  
  
After a few minutes of silence, she got up. "I'm gonna go see how Josh is doing. He left a while ago, now."  
  
He nodded. "I'll be there soon. I'm just ."  
  
"Gonna wait here until someone comes?"  
  
He marveled once again that she knew him so well. "Something like that," he said, to avoid saying what he really thought, that he was scared that if he left the room again, Sam wouldn't make it, that of he stopped praying, even for a second, it would be over.  
  
After CJ was gone, he thought back on what she'd said. It explained quite few things. It shouldn't have surprised him, really. Sam had always had a tendency to try to save everyone. Laurie. Ainsley. Donna's friend. Toby.  
  
"Toby, if it was serious, they'd have called the President."  
  
* * * * *  
  
One hour later, Toby was still reminiscing when CJ and Josh came back to the room, followed by Leo and the President.  
  
He got up, his legs stiff after all the time he'd spent sitting on the uncomfortable chair.  
  
The surgeon entered after the president, and they all faced him. Toby was trying to read his face, trying to find a clue.  
  
Good news? Bad news?  
  
"He survived the surgery," the man said, and everyone but Toby let go of a breath.  
  
"But?" he asked, sensing there was more.  
  
"There was too much damage, we had to remove his right kidney," the doctor admitted. "We couldn't have controlled the bleeding otherwise."  
  
Josh closed his eyes, and Leo and Toby looked at each other. The President sighed deeply, before asking, "He can live like that, right?"  
  
"Yes. It's going to take restrictions, of course, but that isn't fatal in itself."  
  
Toby didn't comment. He could live with that. Sam was going to take it hard, no reason he shouldn't, but they all could live with that.  
  
"I want to see him," Toby said.  
  
"He'll wake up soon," the surgeon nodded. "I'll have someone show you his room. I'm sorry, but I can only allow one person tonight, and not for long. He'll be tired, he needs to rest."  
  
Everyone nodded resignedly. And no one dared to contest Toby's right to go in first.  
  
Good, he wouldn't have to kill anyone, then.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Toby approached the bed slowly, taking in the paleness of his deputy, and the dark smudges under his eyes. There were tubes and wires everywhere, it seemed, and the cardiac monitor was beeping regularly. He should have found it irritating, but it was reassuring. It was a sign that Sam was still with them.  
  
The nurse who had followed him into the room checked all the instruments, and smiled to him. "You can sit for a while and talk to him. He was conscious, a few minutes ago, he may enjoy seeing a friend."  
  
Toby nodded his thanks and waited until she'd left him alone to sit down. He hesitated a minute before taking Sam's hand, grimacing at its coldness.  
  
"Hey Sam," he said.  
  
Sam opened his eyes slowly, blinking at the ceiling, obviously trying to remember where he was.  
  
"Sam?" he repeated softly.  
  
Sam turned his head slowly and focussed on his boss.  
  
"'by?" he croaked, and grimaced.  
  
Toby suddenly remembered Josh complaining that his throat had felt like parchment after his own surgery and he said "Yeah. Want some ice?"  
  
Sam nodded weakly, closing his eyes, and accepted the offered cube gratefully.  
  
"Better?"  
  
"Little. What happened?"  
  
"You . What do you remember?"  
  
He frowned a little. "Pizza," he blurted out after a while. "I was looking for a pizza. I was hungry."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"There was ." he closed his eyes, paling slightly, and Toby squeezed his hands.  
  
"It's okay kid, it's over. You're safe now."  
  
Sam nodded, still looking frightened, then he went on "It was cold. I had never been so cold in my life, Toby. Lizzie was there."  
  
Lizzie? Who was Lizzie, Toby wondered. Then he remembered. The students.  
  
"Yeah, she and some friends of hers took care of you a little," he explained.  
  
"That was nice," Sam said, and Toby agreed wholeheartedly, thinking that they had at least kept his deputy from bleeding to death, or dying from the shock. And that he hadn't been alone all the time he was waiting for the ambulance.  
  
"How do you feel?" he asked, trying to keep him away from the memories.  
  
"Less cold. I don't like cold," Sam muttered, and Toby stroked his hair.  
  
"I know. I know. We're here now, everyone's outside, okay?"  
  
Suddenly, he saw his deputy try to shift on the bed, and before he could stop him, Sam put his hand on his side, his face contorting in pain.  
  
"Sam?" Toby asked.  
  
"It hurts, Toby," Sam said breathlessly, and Toby sighed. The nurse had said that he wasn't due for another dose of morphine for half an hour.  
  
"I know, kid," he said. Feeling helpless, he stroked Sam's hair, and put a hand on his forehead, trying to make the creases he saw there disappear.  
  
Sam tried to move again, and Toby saw his eyes roll back in his head. The hand that was squeezing his relaxed, and Toby sat back on his chair, hating to have to watch that and not being able to take it away.  
  
"I know," he said again, even though his deputy was past hearing him. He stroked the hand he was still holding with his thumb, and waited for Sam to wake up again, or for someone to kick him out, whichever would come first. 


	6. Part Five

PART FIVE  
  
The next morning Josh's apartment  
  
Josh woke up screaming, holding his hand on his chest, and looking automatically for blood. The nightmare was such an old acquaintance by now that it only took him a few moments to get settled again.  
  
He was a little more nervous than usual, for Amy wasn't there to help him calm down, but his heart slowed down quickly. And then, he remembered the reason Amy wasn't there in the first place.  
  
She'd driven to the hospital last night, before going back to her place, saying she wouldn't feel comfortable with them.  
  
The hospital.  
  
Sam.  
  
Josh got up and rushed to the living room, checking his answering machine.  
  
No new messages.  
  
Someone would have called him if anything bad had happened, right?  
  
In doubt, he called CJ's office. She was already there, as he expected. She'd had to brief the press after Sam had come out of surgery. Toby had stayed at the hospital. Josh didn't think he had ever looked as old as when he had came back to the waiting room after the nurse had kicked him out of Sam's room.  
  
He had only shrugged in answer to their questions, saying that yes, Sam had woken up, yes, he knew where he was, and he knew everyone was there, and he was going to stay there, he'd work on CJ's statement and fax it over.  
  
While the rest of the gang filed out, Josh heard the President ask Toby for the truth, and Toby answered, "He didn't say much. He said it hurt"  
  
His throat had constricted at that, and he'd accelerated, making it difficult for Donna to follow him.  
  
CJ picked up after four rings. "CJ Cregg."  
  
"Hey, it's Josh."  
  
"You okay?" she asked immediately.  
  
"Yeah, why?"  
  
"You sound weird," she said, before continuing, not leaving him any time to worry. "There's no news. Toby checks in every half hour. Sam's woken up two times, he's more coherent, but he hasn't said anything about what happened."  
  
"Okay. I'll be over in an hour."  
  
"You're going to the hospital first?" she asked, and he wondered about that. Should he go there first?  
  
"Josh?" CJ insisted.  
  
"No, I'll check in first, then go there and send Toby home for a few hours."  
  
"Good," she said. "We called his parents, by the way. They're trying to book a flight, but they don't know when they'll be here." A voice in the background informed him that Carol was saying something to CJ. "Okay, I have to go now. See you," CJ said after two minutes, and she hung up without waiting for an answer.  
  
He hung up, and tried to think. What now?  
  
Shower, yes, that's what he did in the morning. Shower.  
  
* * * * *  
  
He had barely put a foot in the West Wing when Donna caught his arm and ordered "Leo's office. Now."  
  
"Is there - " he began to ask, only to be cut off.  
  
"I don't know, he didn't say anything."  
  
They hurried, and CJ joined them on the way. They were all gathered in Leo's office when the chief of staff came in, looking as if he hadn't had a single minute of sleep in 48 hours - which was probably the case, Josh reflected.  
  
"I've just seen the President," Leo said without preamble. "Toby called. They're running tests right now, but it seems his kidney isn't functioning as well as expected."  
  
They all froze at that, and for a long time, no one spoke. Then Donna said, almost shyly "Can we?"  
  
"I need someone here," Leo said. "The country didn't stop living last night, much as we would all have liked that. CJ can you stay here while Josh goes to the hospital? You'll take turns."  
  
"What about Toby?" Josh asked, and Leo looked at him as if he'd gone insane. "You want to be the one to tell him he has to come to work?" he asked. "Be my guest."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Hospital  
  
The doctor entered the room and Sam briefly considered sitting up a little, but the idea was enough to tire him out and he gave up. It seemed the medical staff had finally run out of ideas of tests, for which he was grateful, but now the anxiety had returned.  
  
The doctor came to a stop next to his bed, and consulted his notes briefly.  
  
"So?" Sam asked, unable to take the waiting one minute longer.  
  
"Your friends are there, do you want them to be present?" the doctor stalled.  
  
Yes, he wanted them to be present. No, he didn't want to wait, not even for the few minutes it would take for them to arrive.  
  
"Tell me now," he said.  
  
"The results are back. Your kidney is malfunctioning. My guess is, it wasn't working right already, but the right kidney could compensate enough for it to be unnoticeable. It's actually not as unusual as most people think to have only one good kidney and not be aware of it."  
  
"Are you telling me that I'm gonna die?" Sam asked, surprised to feel so numb.  
  
"No. Of course not. We're going to begin dialysis as soon as possible. We're also going to put you on a list for a transplant, and check in your family if someone would be compatible."  
  
He nodded, a little stunned by the news - Dialysis? Transplant? - and fighting the feeling that the doctor wasn't telling him everything.  
  
"How long?" he asked.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"How long can I go on like that?"  
  
"It depends on how your kidney reacts to the dialysis," the doctor began. "If all goes well, months."  
  
"If all doesn't go well?"  
  
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," the doctor said reassuringly, and Sam's heart sank.  
  
"Your friends are out there. Should I tell them, or do you prefer to - "  
  
"No, go ahead," Sam said quickly. "And . can I see them?"  
  
"Sure, I'll send them."  
  
He offered Sam a reassuring smile, and left.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Toby was pacing the waiting room, the doctor's words echoing into his head.  
  
"There may be a problem."  
  
He was exhausted. One of the nurses had found him asleep on the chair next to Sam's bed, last night, and she'd let him sleep as much as possible, but she'd had to wake him up when they'd noticed a problem, and they'd made him get out so they could run a few tests.  
  
Sam was conscious by then, and he's shot Toby a nervous smile before he went out, and that smile had concurred to strengthen the lump he felt in his stomach.  
  
Sam was scared, and that drove him insane.  
  
He started when Josh and Donna entered the waiting room, Josh clutching Donna's hand as if it was a life boat.  
  
"Nothing yet," he told them right away.  
  
"What do they think - "  
  
"Josh, I honestly have no clue. He said he'd be here as soon as he knew something."  
  
The doctor who had already talked to them last night entered before Josh could answer, and Toby cursed again their ability to wear a mask that prevented him from reading what they really thought on their faces.  
  
"I'm sorry to keep you waiting, I had to speak with Mr Seaborn first," the doctor said.  
  
"So?" Josh asked.  
  
"His left kidney is showing signs of malfunction," the doctor began.  
  
* * * * *  
  
When Josh and Toby entered the room, Sam was staring at the window.  
  
"Hey buddy," Josh said trying to be cheerful. "How do you feel?"  
  
"Fine," Sam said flatly.  
  
Josh and Toby exchanged a look, and turned back to the young man.  
  
"More specifically?" Toby asked. Sam seemed a lot more lucid than he had last night, which was good, but he also knew that it was a lot to take in at first. He was with him when he'd been told exactly what the wound had done to him, and even if he'd made a good job of keeping his face as neutral as possible, Toby had seen that it had hit him hard.  
  
"Like I'll never be able to even raise my head again without feeling drained. But on the plus side, the stuff they're giving me seems to be working better now, so I'm not complaining," Sam bit back, before beginning to chew on his lip. "Sorry guys," he said.  
  
"That's okay," Josh said, and Toby could see in his face that he was remembering the days following Rosslyn.  
  
Why did it have to be the two youngest ones of the team, he wondered again. In fact, why did it have to be their team over and over again?  
  
An uncomfortable silence fell between the three of them, and Sam finally turned his head to them.  
  
"The doctor told you," he sighed. He looked exhausted, and about ready to cry.  
  
"Yes, he did," Josh said, trying to keep his voice soft, reassuring. "It's gonna be fine, you'll see."  
  
Sam tried to smile, but it didn't come easily. "Yeah, sure," he said. "Right."  
  
"So," Josh said, decided not to insist for now, "Do you want to hear what the others wanted us to tell you?"  
  
Sam seemed to cheer a little at that, and he nodded. "Sure."  
  
Josh and Toby sat down, and tried to keep his mind off the situation. 


	7. Part Six

PART SIX  
  
The West Wing Four days later  
  
Toby was in the mess, staring at his half eaten sandwich, when Leo came to sit next to him. He had been forced to come to work for a while, since there were things that couldn't possibly wait, and the rest of the staff had jumped on the occasion to force some food into him.  
  
"No news," Leo said. "His mom just called. He had another dialysis."  
  
"I know, he was scheduled for this morning," Toby answered. He had been there when Sam had come back from the first one, and he winced when he thought that he had had to go through it yet again.  
  
Both Sam's parents had been tested for a possible transplant, but they were still waiting to hear back from that.  
  
The medical staff had installed a catheter for the dialysis, and Sam had told him the last time he had seen him that he had hurt like hell during the procedure, that he still did, actually, but there was no choice.  
  
And then, the first dialysis he'd had hadn't gone too well - Sam hated that he had to be dependant on a machine, and the First Lady, who was keeping tabs on Sam's health, had learned afterwards that the medical staff hadn't been too considerate with him, basically hooking him up to the machine and leaving him alone. He had come back sick, with a horrendous headache, and he had spent the rest of the day staring morosely at the window, only giving monosyllabic answers to whoever was talking to him. Toby, Josh and CJ had taken turns to try to cheer him up that day, but it hadn't seemed to help one bit. Everyone had been relieved when he had been given something to sleep and he had lost consciousness.  
  
Sitting back and being unable to do anything was driving them mad. Toby had heard that Abbey had practically handcuffed the President to his desk before he went on rampage and tried to single-handedly catch the shooter. Toby figured it must be hard - being the leader of the free world, and being unable to save a member of his staff.  
  
He suddenly realized that Leo was staring at him, and that he hadn't spoken for several minutes. "Sorry, you were saying something?"  
  
"I was asking when was the last time you slept."  
  
"I sleep at the hospital. The nurses don't mind, as long as I'm not in their way."  
  
Or else they were too scared to say anything, but he didn't care. He wasn't bothering anyone, and he wasn't going to let anyone tell him that Sam had to go through all that on his own. Josh would back him up, if need be. Hell, the President would back him up, if need be.  
  
"Okay," Leo sighed. "You're going again soon, I presume."  
  
"As soon as I'm done with the comments for the next dinner - whatever," Toby confirmed, not trying to pretend his job was on the list of his priorities right now.  
  
"Tell him that we all think about him, and that I'll try to stop by," Leo said, getting up and leaving Toby alone with his thoughts.  
  
Sam would be allowed out of the hospital soon. Then he would have to adjust to the rhythm of the dialyses. Taking his job back would be nearly impossible for him as long as he would have to undergo the treatment. Toby had tried to find a way that would allow Sam to come back to work, but it was just impossible. He would be able to work from home, and handle a few light projects, yes, but coming back full time was out of the question.  
  
Sam knew it, and it was yet another reason he was feeling down. He had survived the actual shooting, yes, but he was nowhere near getting his life back, and the fact that his struggle wouldn't stop with his release made him pessimistic - who could say when he would be able to get back to normal? Who could say if he would ever be able to?  
  
Sam was obviously fading. He seemed less . "there" each time Toby saw him.  
  
Toby had the feeling his friend didn't even want to fight, and that scared him. And angered him - anger toward the shooter, and toward Sam, who shouldn't give up so easily, who didn't have the right to give up so easily after making his way into Toby's life.  
  
He knew that Sam was already depressed from the shooting, but now that he had to go through the dialysis process, it seemed he was waiting for things to happen to him. He didn't even protest anymore when the hospital staff took him away for yet another series of tests, he just took it, without showing any reaction.  
  
Toby would have preferred anger, bitterness, anything but the defeatism he was witnessing. Sam was a fighter, he shouldn't have lost hope so quickly.  
  
He sighed and prepared to go back to the hospital, hoping that at least, this day's dialysis hadn't been too hard.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Hospital Three hours later  
  
Toby was in the waiting room again, with Sam's parents, who were sitting as far away from each other as they possibly could.  
  
"Both Mr and Mrs Seaborn are incompatible with Sam," the doctor said, and Toby grimaced. It was the best bet, damn it! "We're now checking among the rest of his family, and we put him on the waiting list, but God knows when we'll be able to find a potential donor. These things usually take time."  
  
"Which means?" Toby wanted to know.  
  
"That we're going to send him home soon - probably by the end of the week. Then he'll have to come back for the dialyses, and the post-operation supervision."  
  
"For how long will he have to . ?"  
  
The doctor looked at him compassionately. "It can take a long time, like we can find a donor in a few weeks. There's really no way to know. In the meantime, he has to stay on dialysis. It's not easy to accept, and I know that he's someone independent, who'll have one hell of a hard time adjusting, but there's no other choice here."  
  
Toby nodded. "Okay," he sighed. "Does he know this already?"  
  
"I talked to him earlier, yes," the doctor said. "He wasn't too pleased, either, but I think he's pretty much resigned himself to the situation."  
  
Resigned, yes, that was a good word for his deputy these days.  
  
He didn't want to see him like that, he thought for the hundredth time that day .  
  
He wanted to see him pissed off, angry, fed up, whatever, but not defeated.  
  
"We also recommended that he see one of the hospital's counselors but he declined."  
  
Yes, of course, and they'd have a talk about that soon, Toby reflected.  
  
"And there are a number of precautions he'll have to take, but we'll cover that tomorrow, I think he's had enough for the day," the doctor added, and Toby sighed. The evening was going to be fun, he could feel it already.  
  
He nodded to Sam's parents as they went see their son, and made his way to the phone - time to update the rest of the staff.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"How do you feel?" Toby asked, smiling at Sam, when he entered the room.  
  
He had waited until his parents had gone back to their hotel to come, so Sam would spend less time alone.  
  
Sam shrugged slightly at his question. "Tired. But okay. I've just had a dose of painkillers, it's better."  
  
"Good," Toby said, trying to sound cheerful. He was wondering how to broach the subject of his impending release from the hospital when Sam said, almost as an afterthought, "The cops came."  
  
Toby started. He hadn't been warned about that.  
  
"They wanted to know what happened," Sam continued.  
  
"What happened?" Toby asked carefully, not sure what Sam's reaction would be.  
  
They hadn't talked about it yet. Sam had avoided the subject each time one of his friends had tried to bring it up. But if he was trying to make an opening now, Toby wasn't going to ignore it.  
  
"I . I came out of the pizzeria. I was thinking that it was a great day," he chuckled humorlessly. "When I tried to get into the car, I . someone put a gun at my head, and told me not to move. He took my keys, my wallet, and he ..."  
  
Sam closed his eyes and swallowed. Toby took his hand, and squeezed it lightly. "It's okay."  
  
"So people keep telling me," Sam said, sounding totally unconvinced. "He told me to move away from the car, and I thought he was just going to take the car and go away. Next thing I know, I'm lying on the ground, trying to figure out why someone is asking me why I'm bleeding. I didn't even hear him shoot."  
  
Toby didn't quite know what to answer to that, so he decided to just let Sam talk, like he obviously needed to.  
  
"The cops wanted to know if I had fought," he said. "They said it would have explained why he shot. But I didn't, and not just because cops tell you not to. I was completely frozen, Toby, I could barely move."  
  
He had closed his eyes again, and Toby squeezed the hand he was holding a little more forcefully.  
  
"And now, I'm waiting for someone who doesn't even know I exist to die, so I can have . God, how pathetic am I?"  
  
"Sam, you're not - " Toby tried to say.  
  
"I don't know why he did it," Sam said, not seeming to realize that Toby had said anything. "I don't know why he shot. Was it just because he could?" Sam asked, his voice breaking slightly at the end. "Was that all it was about?"  
  
"I don't know kid. I have no idea. I wish ."  
  
He wished a lot a things, like having been able to prevent it from happening, like being able to spare him from becoming dependent on a machine for what might be months, or even years, like being able to at least explain why it had happened.  
  
Rosslyn had had a reason. A bad one, but the shooters were trying to prove something. What was Sam's assailant trying to prove? That the gun control laws were inefficient? Well, they didn't need the reminder, thank you very much.  
  
"I know," Sam said softly. "I think I'm gonna sleep now. Or pass out, whatever. Dialysis tends to wipe me out."  
  
Toby smiled. "Go ahead, I'll stay for a while. Leo said that he thinks of you lot, by the way. He'll try to stop by."  
  
"Cool," Sam murmured. "I wish I wasn't so tired all the time."  
  
"I know," Toby said, but Sam was already asleep. 


	8. Part Seven

PART SEVEN  
  
Sam's apartment Four weeks later  
  
Sam stared at the phone for a long time, the doctor's words echoing in his mind. "We found a donor."  
  
He tried to breathe more regularly, but it didn't seem to ease the rhythm of his heartbeat.  
  
The thousand questions he had already pondered, the questions which were keeping him awake sometimes, were coming back to him with a vengeance.  
  
"What if there's a problem during surgery?"  
  
"What if I reject the transplant and have to go back to dialysis?"  
  
"What if they tell me they made a mistake when I go in, and have to come back here and wait again?"  
  
"What if ."  
  
He tried to stop his thoughts from spiraling, and to focus on the upsides.  
  
"What if it works?"  
  
"What if I'm free of this god forsaken machine?"  
  
"What if it gives me my life back?"  
  
The last weeks had been a nightmare for him. He was young, independent, healthy, he lived for his job, and he'd had to depend on a machine to stay alive, to accept that a quick return to work was completely out of the question until he'd had the transplant, to accept to change his lifestyle . all that because someone had stolen his car.  
  
He had already undergone most of the tests he had to take to check if he could even receive a transplant. It hadn't been any fun, and even though he lived home, he had the feeling he hadn't really checked out of the hospital yet, not after the hours he had spent there recently.  
  
He wasn't too sure how he felt about waiting for someone to die so he could take one of his kidneys. It made him feel . low, somehow, like he was going to profit from someone else's tragedy.  
  
Everyone kept telling him that accidents happen anyway, but everyone wasn't in his shoes right now, waiting for fate to change his life again.  
  
Fate hadn't been on his side recently.  
  
He had sent his parents back to California a few days after his release from the hospital. They had been the most energetic of his supporters - and the most tiresome ones. They were trying so hard to keep in check what they thought of the situation and of each other that it was painful to watch. The lines around his mother's mouth each time his father told him he was going to be fine, as if she was refraining from shouting at him that he didn't have the right to speak. The frown that never left his father's forehead all the time he'd been there. They were making him nervous, they were hurting him, and they were cuddling him way too much for his taste. He loved them, but there was hovering, and then there was hovering. He had his hands full enough with the senior staff already, thank you very much.  
  
Speaking of which, he should call Toby.  
  
Toby would like to know about this latest turn of events.  
  
Toby had been a gift during the last weeks, not because he showed Sam he was worried, although there was no questioning that, but because he cared enough to shake him up and scold him when he needed to be. And his boss had decided that two weeks of wallowing in self pity were more than enough, so after listening to Sam alternately blowing up at people and complaining that his life was over, he'd come alone once, and shouted some sense into him, for a good hour. He was hoarse when he was done, and Sam was crying, and had cried most of the following night, Toby holding his hand and telling him that he was sorry, that he thought Sam had needed to hear that, but things had begun to look up after that.  
  
When he had woken up the next morning, Toby still at his side, fast asleep, he had felt as if he had finally managed to get rid of his more extreme reactions, as if the edge of the pain had been taken off.  
  
Sam knew he was lucky.  
  
He was alive, he lived in a place and age where there were possibilities for him to get help, he had friends, he had hope.  
  
Simply, it wasn't always enough to know that.  
  
Sometimes you had to be told that.  
  
Or you had to have some sense shaken into you.  
  
It would have been a huge overstatement to say that he had taken the treatment well after that. But he had stopped whining so much, he had tried to look out more for himself, instead of letting other people do all the work for him.  
  
Now, two weeks later, he was ashamed of the way he had acted - with the nurses, and the doctors who were trying to help him of course, but also with his friends, letting them take care of him, cooking for him, listen to the explanations the doctors gave him instead of doing some research by himself.  
  
And what was worse, no one wanted to listen to his apologies.  
  
His friends hadn't even let him finish the first sentence of his excuses before asking him what the hell he thought friends were for, the medical staff had shrugged and said they hadn't taken it personally, and that had made him feel even more small.  
  
That said, even if he'd stopped being such a major pain in the ass with everyone who tried to help him, he still hated every minute of his life right then. In the past four weeks, the only two times he'd felt remotely like a human being had been during a "let's cheer up Sam" party organized by his friends - Josh, who was working hard at mending the fences between them, had shown up on his doorstep, had cleaned up the apartment a little after having bullied Sam into putting on some other clothes than faded sweat pants and a T shirt (Sam had decided on a black cotton pants and a blue shirt, and the amount of time he had needed to reach that decision had been completely ridiculous, in his humble opinion) and the others had come an hour later, their arms full of food, and with three videos to spend the night. One of them was a Bruce Springsteen concert, and they had begun with this one, "to set the mood," CJ had said.  
  
The night had been the best he had spent in a very long time, and he was happy to see CJ - Josh and Toby had been present (and sometimes overbearing, or so Sam claimed) during his recovery, but CJ had kept at bay, partly because of her job, and partly, he suspected, because Simon was dead, and seeing another of her friends being shot would have been too painful.  
  
The other time was when Toby had managed to convince him to come with them to a movie at the White House, which had given him the opportunity to see the President again.  
  
Other than that, he hated his life, and the fact that maybe, just maybe, there was hope yet, was slowly sinking in. Each time he thought that he could very well be able to work again in a few months, he thought about the rejection statistics - it didn't happen as often as a few years before, but it was still possible. Each time he thought about the possibility of being autonomous again, he thought about the person who had just died.  
  
He had to call Toby, before he had a panic attack, or lost whatever was left of his sanity.  
  
He shook himself and dialed Toby's number, almost smiling when his boss barked "What?" into the phone. The next speech wasn't going well, then.  
  
"Toby, the doctor called," he began. "I .hum, can you come, please?" he added, hoping Toby would hear the "I'm scared to death and I don't want to be alone" he really wanted to say.  
  
"Give me half an hour," Toby said, and hung up.  
  
Thank God for my friends, Sam thought, fighting the tears - that was another thing he didn't like in his new life, he cried way too easily for his taste. He didn't know which one of the drugs he was on was responsible for his mood swings and he didn't care, it was just embarrassing. Some days he was unable to stop, damn it!  
  
Then he thought about the surgery he was going to have to go through - he could still remember what he had felt like when he had woken up in the recovery room after the shooting, and how it had hurt. Was it going to be easier this time? Worse? How much worse?  
  
And he thought about the statistics that said that about fifty percent of the transplants were still viable ten years after the operation, which would make him forty-four by then.  
  
He gave up the fight, and cried. 


	9. Part Eight

PART EIGHT  
  
Recovery room  
  
Sam had been told he wouldn't remember anything from the OR, and that part proved true enough.  
  
Later, he would have a vague image of someone with a mask above him, and the sensation of having his arms stretched out to the sides, then the burn in his arm as the anaesthetic was passing through his bloodstream, but nothing else.  
  
Sam had also been told he wouldn't remember the first few hours in recovery, but unfortunately, that part didn't come true.  
  
The first thing Sam was conscious of when he woke up was that he hurt. More than he had in all his life.  
  
Whatever he'd done to deserve that, he would have been more than happy to make amends for it, but no one seemed to know he was here.  
  
He heard someone say, "Don't worry, we're going to take some x-rays of your lungs."  
  
Then he felt hands grabbing him, lifting him, and it hurt even more. He tried to cry out, but it didn't seem to work, and everything was black again.  
  
* * * * *  
  
The next time he woke up, it still hurt as much, and he heard an incessant beeping next to him. And he found out that he couldn't breathe.  
  
Then a male voice said "Okay, we're going to extubate you. Take a deep breath and when I'll tell you, let it out."  
  
The sensation of the tube leaving his throat was unpleasant, to say the least, but he could breathe all he wanted now, and he made the most of this new freedom.  
  
Then he coughed a little, but it caused him even more pain, and he moaned.  
  
The male voice asked "On a 1 to 100 scale, how would you describe the pain?"  
  
"85?" he said, shocked at how quaky his voice sounded.  
  
"Okay, we're gonna give you some morphine," the voice said, and he passed out again.  
  
* * * * *  
  
The third time he awoke, he was able to get his bearings a little more, and to feel that he hurt also in the neck, where they had put the catheter before his first dialysis. That's when it came back to him : the transplant.  
  
He tried to raise his head, to ask where he was and if the operation was done, but he couldn't move that much.  
  
Then a doctor, with a familiar face, leaned over him. "How do you feel?" he asked.  
  
"Groggy. Kinda numb," he managed.  
  
"Okay, that's normal. The transplant was a success, congratulations. The kidney is working, and you're already urinating a lot. We're going to keep you in recovery for the night, then we'll send you to your room."  
  
"Friends?" he asked.  
  
"You'll see them tomorrow," the doctor promised, and Sam fell asleep again.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Waiting room  
  
The senior staff and the Bartlets got up all at once when the surgeon entered the room.  
  
"The operation went well," he said without making them wait. "He's in recovery right now. The kidney seems to be functioning."  
  
"Now what?" Abbey asked.  
  
"Now we wait and see if he'll accept the transplant. There's always a risk of rejection, especially when the transplant comes from a dead donor. We're going to keep him in recovery tonight, but you'll be able to see him tomorrow."  
  
Once the doctor was gone, they let go of their collective breath, and began to organize themselves for the next few days. The President and Leo prepared to head back to the White House - there wasn't anything more they could do here anyway.  
  
The rest of the staff argued a moment before deciding that Josh would stay with Sam at first, and that Toby would go to sleep for a few hours, before coming back to take Josh's place. He made it clear that he wanted to be there when Sam woke up, and no one challenged him, although CJ seemed amused at his protectiveness.  
  
She wouldn't have been if she'd been there to witness the state Sam was in when Toby had found him after his phone call, earlier that day.  
  
He had tried to hide that he'd been crying, but Toby had come to recognize the signs. He was terrified, that the transplant was going to fail, and that it was going to work, because then he'd have to go back to the world, and even though he had never said anything about it, Toby knew that the prospect frightened him.  
  
He had been pretty sheltered after the shooting, leaving his place only to make the trip to the hospital. He was having such a hard time dealing with the immediate effects of his conditions that no one had dared to push him to resume some activities. They were waiting for the dust to settle, so they could see more clearly what they were up against. They knew that it couldn't go on like that forever, though. Sam had only talked about the shooting two times - one with the police, one with Toby. He hadn't answered any questions, and the expression on his face when someone tried to make him talk kept them from insisting too much.  
  
They hadn't had the time to push more before the transplant, and now it obviously would have to wait some more.  
  
Toby sincerely hoped that their waiting for a better time hadn't hurt Sam more in the long run, but it was yet another thing they couldn't do anything about now.  
  
And for today, Toby thought with a smile, the transplant had been a success, and that was something they could celebrate.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Recovery room  
  
When Sam woke up again, he found a nurse at his bedside. She smiled cheerfully and asked him how he was feeling.  
  
"Better, I think," he admitted, a little surprised himself.  
  
"Good," she said, checking his blood pressure.  
  
He took a look at the equipment he was wired to, and opened his eyes in surprise.  
  
"Impressive, isn't it?" she smiled.  
  
He had to agree. They had explained to him what everything was before they took him to the operation room, but there was a huge difference between picturing it and actually seeing it - the tubes for the oxygen, the drips, the clip on his finger.  
  
And then there were the drains on his scar, and he tried not to think about what these ones were for.  
  
He grimaced slightly and the nurse must have seen his expression, because she smiled gently. "You'll be free of the oxygen and at least one of the drips pretty soon," she promised. "They're probably going to send you to a private room once the doctor has seen you."  
  
"Thanks," he said and she nodded, and left him to see to another patient.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Sam's room 24 hours later  
  
Sam was staring at the ceiling of his new room - he had only been there for a few hours, and he already despised it.  
  
Toby hadn't been able to be there when Sam was brought into his new room - something had come up at work, his boss had told him on the phone. Josh was there, though, and his parents were on the road again. He had tried to protest that he wasn't sure he wanted to see them, but no one, not even him, had the heart to tell them to stay in California.  
  
He resigned himself to their visit, and tried to regain some strength back. He had expected to be tired, but not that tired. The doctor had told him that he hadn't completely recovered from the previous surgery yet, which would make it more difficult for him to go back at his top form.  
  
He was bored, too. He wasn't able to write or read, yet, and he had been forbidden to watch CNN. Unfortunately, nothing else interested him on TV, so all he had left was listening to music. His friends often found him asleep, his CD player still running.  
  
His nights weren't pleasant either. He hurt, and the dosage of the painkillers wasn't enough to take the pain away, so he often found himself wide awake in the night, waiting for his next shot.  
  
The tests that had to be run were less frequent, though, to his relief. The first forty eight hours after the operation had been really awful. He knew that the nurses had checked on him every half hour for the first six hours after the operation, but back then he was too out of it to care. But now, he was still poked and prodded every hour, and he couldn't wait for the rhythm of the tests to slow down.  
  
On the other hand, when the nurses weren't there to annoy him, all he had left to do was stare at the ceiling, and that wasn't proving to be half as entertaining as one would have thought.  
  
At least, last time, he was so busy indulging into self pity he hadn't the time to be bored, he thought, before falling asleep.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Toby's office Three days later  
  
Four days after the transplant, Toby almost managed to put in his ten hours of work a day again. Sam was getting much better, and the assistants had finally been able to go see him. The President had also paid him a visit, along with the First Lady, and everyone seemed much happier.  
  
Sam's parents had gone back to California, to his urgings. Josh told Toby, after they saw them at the airport, that they were making so many efforts to stay civil in each other presence that it was almost painful to watch, and Toby had had to agree. They were cold, they were polite, and yet the hatred they felt for each other was glaringly obvious - they could barely stand being in the same room, and Sam wasn't an idiot, he could see that all too well. He had told Toby that he had been happy to have them with him on the hardest days, but now that he was feeling better, it pained him to see the state their relationship was in. He didn't want to see them both near him, and he didn't want to choose, so he asked them to go away.  
  
His mother had cried, but she had waited to be out of the room for that, which bought her a few points with Josh, who had told Toby that at least, she had had the decency to wait until Sam was out of earshot, so it wouldn't add yet more pressure on his shoulders. His father had been less understanding, trying to bully his son into being allowed to stay until Josh kicked him out of the room when he saw that Sam was ready to cave in. Mr Seaborn Sr. had looked at Josh angrily after that, but it would have taken a lot more than a few disapproving looks from this man to phase Josh.  
  
His parents gone, the senior staff tried to keep Sam entertained, and to keep his mind off the recovering period that was awaiting him. The surgeon who had made the transplant had warned them all that there were going to be a number of restrictions on his lifestyle now, and he'd have to follow a treatment until the end of his life. Sam claimed that it was nothing compared to the dialyses, though, and that's about all they got from him on the subject. When they tried to talk more about it with him, he didn't seem to listen to them. He wanted to hear about office gossip, or even about politics, but he never discussed his operation, or the actual attack.  
  
The psychologist of the hospital had told them she wasn't worried yet. Sam had lots of friends who were keeping an eye on him, and he'd talk to them, sooner or later. And despite his evasion tactics, Sam did seem in much better spirits than he had been before.  
  
Toby was smiling when the phone rang.  
  
A nurse on Sam's floor wanted to talk to him. Sam had asked to see him as soon as possible. 


	10. Part Nine

PART NINE  
  
Sam's room  
  
When he entered the room, Toby went straight to Sam's bedside. "Hey, what's up?" he asked. The nurse who had called him hadn't wanted to give him details, explaining that Sam wanted to talk to him himself, but he'd had to put on sterile clothes to come into the room where they'd moved Sam, and it wasn't a good sign, he knew that much.  
  
Sam smiled sadly. "I'm rejecting the transplant."  
  
Toby sat down abruptly, and grabbed his deputy's hand. It was too warm, and Sam was sweating, his hair plastered to his forehead.  
  
"They've increased the immunosuppressive dosage, and they're giving me cortisone, I think. That's why you had to put ." He gestured to the plastic hat Toby was wearing. "I'm sorry, but I wanted to see you, and - "  
  
"I'd have kicked your ass if you hadn't called me," he said. "I still might if you don't stop apologizing at once."  
  
Sam opened his mouth to apologize, realized what he was about to say, and closed it again, smiling softly.  
  
"Can you . can you stay for a while? I asked the nurses, they say it's okay if someone is with me, and I get . nervous here, alone."  
  
"Yes, of course, I'll stay." He squeezed Sam's hand. "Hold on, okay."  
  
He smiled. "I'm scared. I don't want to ."  
  
Lose the kidney, go back to dialysis, have to wait again. But he didn't want to say that out loud, and Toby nodded.  
  
"It's gonna be okay. You've come this far, haven't you?"  
  
"Yeah," Sam sighed. "Whatever. Can we . can we not talk about it?"  
  
"Sure. What do you want to talk about?"  
  
Sam smiled. "Tell me about the speech he has to give tonight," he said.  
  
Toby began to talk about politics, then about stubborn republicans, then about Ginger's new shoes, on which she'd fallen twice, and he went on talking about the latest adventures of the Bartlet's administration until Sam had fallen asleep.  
  
* * * * *  
  
When Sam woke up again, Toby was still there, typing on his laptop. He moved his hand slightly to move away the bangs that had fallen on his forehead, but it was too tiresome to do, and he sighed.  
  
Toby caught the movement, and put his laptop on the side, and pushed the offensive bangs away.  
  
"Better?" he asked.  
  
Sam nodded and asked drowsily, "How long ."  
  
"A few hours."  
  
When Toby didn't tell him that the treatment was working, he closed his eyes. His boss would have told him immediately, if he had been doing better. "Ironic," he muttered.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"I said, it's ironic."  
  
Toby raised an eyebrow and he explained, "That my body is trying to kill the kidney that's supposed to save my life," he explained.  
  
"They're still giving you ."  
  
"Yeah. Not working so far, is it?" he asked, and Toby bit his lip. "What were you working on?" Sam asked, because his eyes were beginning to burn, and he was feeling a lump in his throat, and Toby had seen him cry enough already.  
  
He fell asleep before Toby was done explaining what Bruno was up to this time.  
  
* * * * *  
  
CJ was with him the next time he regained consciousness, and the drowsiness he felt worried him. It seemed worse each time he woke up. He shouldn't have felt so . disconnected.  
  
"Hey, Ceej," he smiled.  
  
"How do you feel?" she asked immediately, and he pondered that.  
  
"Never better," he finally said, and she frowned.  
  
"You just have to do everything the hard way, don't you, Spanky?" she said.  
  
He shrugged slightly.  
  
"We sent Toby home, he was exhausted. He'll come back soon, or he'll kill a few people trying."  
  
Sam nodded, and they both stayed silent a few minutes. Then he looked at her, and asked her how she was doing.  
  
"Why?" she asked. "I should be the one asking you that."  
  
"You did," he pointed out. "And I know that it's not easy for you."  
  
"Sam, it's hard for each and every one of us. What do you think, that it's a walk in the park for Toby? And Josh? And Leo and the President, for God's sake!" she exclaimed.  
  
"I know, I just . I don't know what I'm trying to say, I guess I'm a little more stoned than I thought I was," he said, smiling weakly.  
  
He wasn't going to tell her that it had to be hard for her, because she'd lost someone to a bullet already, because he was afraid of re opening the wound. And he wasn't going to tell her that he wanted to take care of her again, because he had a headache already, and she would yell if she knew that.  
  
She smiled. "I know, Spanky," she said, and she leaned and kissed his forehead.  
  
He was falling asleep quickly, but he had the time to whisper "Oh God, don't tell me I said that out loud" and to hear a chuckle before he went under.  
  
* * * * *  
  
When Sam woke up, the sun was shining through the window. He sleepily marveled at the light, and stared at the wall in front of him for a while, enjoying the pattern that the blinds were throwing on the wall.  
  
He tried to remember who had been with him last night, but the effort that asked of him almost made him go back to sleep.  
  
He had trouble stringing together two coherent thoughts now.  
  
A movement on his left made him turn his head. Someone leant over him. "Hey, kid."  
  
"Toby," he smiled.  
  
"How are you feeling?"  
  
"How do I look?" he asked, and his boss almost smiled.  
  
"Yeah. I know. Look, hold on a little longer okay," he said. "It's gonna be fine".  
  
He nodded sadly. Sure, it was.  
  
Each time he closed his eyes, he was scared he wouldn't have the strength to open them again, but it was gonna be fine.  
  
Sure.  
  
"Your parents called," Toby added, to make small talk.  
  
But his parents hated each other now. Or maybe they always had. Had they always hated each other?  
  
"I don't know kid," Toby said, and Sam realized, annoyed, that he had begun to think out loud again.  
  
He didn't like that. Too much of a loss of control for his taste. He wanted to feel in control.  
  
"I know," Toby said again as he was falling asleep again. "I know."  
  
* * * * *  
  
When Sam woke up again, it was dark in the room. How long had he been out this time?  
  
"Hey Sam," a voice said. Familiar, and comforting. He had heard it often in the past few days. Or maybe weeks, he had no idea how long he'd been there anyway.  
  
"Sam?" another voice said.  
  
He opened his eyes reluctantly.  
  
"Josh?" he said, recognizing his friend. He had had something to tell Josh, but he couldn't remember what that was. Anyway, Josh had been nice to him since he was there. It couldn't be easy, after what had happened to him, but he remembered talking to him once or twice.  
  
"Yeah," Josh said, "Toby's here too."  
  
Sam waved his hand, too tired to speak.  
  
"Hold on a little while longer, okay?" Josh said. "The treatment is beginning to work, they say you should feel better soon."  
  
"They do? That's cool," he said, not sure if he should believe that.  
  
Were they just trying to comfort him?  
  
And why did CJ look so strange, like she wanted to cry?  
  
"Cool, yes, you could say that," Toby's voice said. "Could you please stop scaring us, now?"  
  
He tried to smile, but he was way too tired to make it, so he just waved his hand a little again. He felt a hand on his forehead, and CJ's voice, near his ear. "It won't be long now."  
  
When had CJ come so close to him?  
  
Whatever, he was way too tired to care.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Toby was scribbling notes on his pad. He knew he was going to have to go back to the White House eventually, but for now, he was waiting for Sam to wake up. The doctor had promised he would show signs of lucidity soon, and that had been a relief to everyone. The last days had been awful, with Sam less coherent each time he surfaced enough to share a few words with the rest of them. They hated to see him like that.  
  
But he was better. He just needed time to recuperate. And then more time to recuperate. And some more time after that to deal with the changes in his life, to adjust back in the West Wing, to accept what had happened to him.  
  
"Hey," Sam said, and Toby started.  
  
Sam was looking at him questioningly and he smiled. "How do you feel?" he asked, and Sam frowned.  
  
"Better, I guess," he said, and Toby nodded.  
  
"You look better too," he said. "You were really out of it last time we talked."  
  
Sam frowned and said "Everyone was there. I remember CJ, and Josh, and you, there."  
  
Toby nodded. "And then you passed out cold, and we spent the next twenty four hours waiting for you to show us the courtesy of noticing our presence."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Oh, that's all you have to say?" Toby asked indignantly. "Oh?"  
  
Sam smiled tiredly. "Sorry, I'll check my Webster later, but right now ."  
  
Toby chuckled. "Never mind, I guess I'd just gotten too used to all your complicated words," he said. "It's weird to see you use a less than 5 syllables word."  
  
"Not so rare these days," Sam said.  
  
"No, and I don't know what you think you're doing, but you're not paid to give monosyllabic answers to each and every question we ask you."  
  
"Yes, oh great sensei," Sam replied, closing his eyes. He opened them again to ask, "What about .?"  
  
"It's okay. You almost lost the kidney but the treatment finally worked. You were lucky, you know."  
  
And at least, they didn't have to tell Sam that he had to be dialyzed again. He didn't know how his deputy would have handled that, but his guess was, "Not well."  
  
The doctor who had talked to them earlier that day had promised them that Sam would get better soon, now that his kidney was working correctly again.  
  
About damn time, Toby thought. "You should sleep," he told his deputy.  
  
Sam nodded, and closed his eyes again. 


	11. Part Ten

PART TEN  
  
Hospital Five days later  
  
Toby made his way to Sam's room. Eight days had passed since Sam had asked him to come. He was better now. The medication had worked, and Sam was slowly getting better.  
  
The first two days had been the hardest. They were waiting to see if the treatment was going to work, Sam had a high fever, and some of the medication they were pumping into him was making him hallucinate. He was delirious half the time, and when he wasn't, he was too weak to talk to them and just stared at the ceiling. Sam didn't seem to remember most of that, though, and Toby supposed it was a good thing.  
  
Then the doctor who had overseen his case since the beginning had told them that the medication seemed to be working, and everyone had breathed again.  
  
Sam was still weak, and he had a long way to go until life got back to normal, but he was feeling a lot better, physically speaking.  
  
Mentally . that was another story entirely. He was depressed (an after affect of some of the medication, but also a reaction to the events of the past two weeks and to the fact that he was now going to have to cope with a fair amount of restriction on his diet, on his lifestyle, and maybe on his work, although the subject hadn't been broached yet), and bitter about the situation.  
  
He entered the room as Sam was hanging up the phone. He could see that his deputy was regaining some of his strength back - and he didn't look on the verge of passing out each time he moved anymore, which was a good sign too.  
  
"Hey, who was it?" he asked, gesturing to the phone.  
  
"My Mom. She wanted to ask if she could come. Again." He sighed a little and settled back on the pillows.  
  
"What did you - "  
  
"The same thing I always do, Toby. I love her, I do, but right now, she . she's not the kind of person who helps you going through a medical emergency. She was more worried than me when I had appendicitis in high school, and it was a walk in the park compared to ."  
  
He trailed off, making a gesture which embraced the room, and Toby nodded.  
  
"They both love you."  
  
"I know. I know, and they mean well, but . the therapist I'm seeing - "  
  
He stopped short and shot a look at Toby, as if to gauge his reaction. Toby kept his face carefully neutral and said, "Your doctor told me it was pretty standard that they recommend someone after that kind of trauma. He already did during your first stay here, if I remember correctly."  
  
Sam smiled wickedly. "Yes. She's good. Anyway, I figured I might as well, you know . vent on someone who isn't my friend, and who I can't hurt, this time around."  
  
"Sam - " Toby began, not wanting to see his friend become all worked up about his past behaviour now.  
  
"It's gonna be though, Toby, and I'd be lying if I told you it didn't scare me. I'm . if I have to scream at someone, I'd rather it not be you anymore."  
  
He blushed slightly, and mumbled something. For a brief moment, Toby debated the pros and cons of making him repeat himself. He decided against it, but . what did Sam want? Maybe a sign that things were going back to normal would be welcome?  
  
"What was that?" he finally asked, sternly.  
  
Just in case.  
  
Sam dropped his eyes on the covers, and said, "After the help you've . well, after everything you've done, I wouldn't want you to think that I'm ungrateful, or something."  
  
"I wouldn't think that. Sam, you were with Josh twenty hours a day when he was shot, did you think he was ungrateful when he snapped at Christmas?"  
  
Sam looked at him, horrified. "Of course n - " He stopped and said "Oh."  
  
"Precisely. Anyway, your therapist ." he began, trying to get the conversation back on tracks.  
  
"She thinks it wouldn't necessarily be a bad idea to think of me first, at least for a while. She says I'm gonna have a hard time adjusting, and I shouldn't think about what the others are feeling before I think about what I'm felling."  
  
"So she basically told you not to pressure yourself into trying to please everyone who wants you to do something?" Toby smiled, and Sam suddenly looked worried so he hastened to add, "She's right. Sam, your altruism is part of the reason we all . appreciate you, but please, don't be generous to the point of causing yourself a nervous breakdown. If you want to see someone, ask. If you don't want to see someone, say so. I mean it, okay."  
  
He nodded, and when he looked up to Toby, some of the old spark was back in his eyes.  
  
"So does it mean I can have my laptop back?" he asked mischievously.  
  
"Very funny, Seaborn. And nicely tried, too," he said gruffly, and the sound of Sam's laughter filled the room, cut by a few "Ow, don't make me laugh, damn it."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Half an hour later, as Toby was beginning to prepare to leave, Sam suddenly asked, "Who was it?"  
  
Suddenly, it seemed important to know that. Who had died? Who had given him his life back?  
  
The question seemed to surprise Toby, who sat back and looked at him. He had enjoyed his boss's visit a lot, and he had had the first real laugh in weeks, but now he needed to know. And he knew Toby would give him the truth.  
  
"Who was what?" his boss asked.  
  
"The donor, Toby," he said, in a tone that made it clear he understood and disapproved of the attempted stalling.  
  
"Oh. it was a twenty year old girl," Toby said softly. "A car accident. She had her donor card on her."  
  
"Car accident, hum," he said quietly.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Sam nodded. "Her name?" he asked hesitantly, but Toby shook his head.  
  
"They won't tell us, Sam. It's better this way. I know you'd like to thank her family ."  
  
Sam nodded - it had been his plan.  
  
"Think, would her mother be happy to meet someone who ."  
  
"I don't know," Sam admitted. "I honestly have no idea."  
  
"Neither do I. Let it be, Sam. Maybe later, but for now ."  
  
"I guess so," he sighed, before saying goodbye to Toby.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Three days later  
  
Josh poked his head in the room.  
  
"Hey buddy. How are you doing?" he asked.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. "Tired of hearing people asking me how I'm doing," he said.  
  
"Good, sarcasm. You're definitely on the road to recovery, my friend."  
  
"Right," he groaned. He was going stir crazy, he was bored out of his mind, he wanted to get out of the hospital and head home. Now.  
  
Josh gestured to the thick books on the nightstand. "What are you reading?"  
  
Sam smiled sheepishly and showed him the cover. The stand, by Stephen King. Josh raised his eyebrows, and he shrugged. "It's big," he explained. "I already read all of Dickens books, and I know The Lord of the rings by heart, it didn't take me four days to read it again."  
  
"When do you begin the Harry Potter books?" Josh asked teasingly. His laughter died in his throat when Sam shot him a guilty look. "Don't tell me you've read them already."  
  
"CJ told me I'd have them when I'm back home. I'll need occupations."  
  
Josh shook his head, remembering his books on physics. "You want the books I - "  
  
"No," Sam said quickly. "I . Hum, physics isn't really my forte."  
  
"Oh. I see. Too bad, it's fascinating. Did you know that theoretically - "  
  
"Josh, did you come here to bore me more than I already am?" Sam asked. "Because President Bartlet came yesterday, and I now know a lot more about wolves than I really needed to know, so ."  
  
They shared a quiet laugh, then stayed silent for a moment.  
  
"I'm sorry," Josh said suddenly, out of the blue, and Sam looked at him in askance. "I . I haven't been that great a friend these past few months, I guess. I should have told you that before, but with everything that had happened ."  
  
Sam sighed. He had wanted to have this conversation for quite some time, but so much had happened recently - the shooting, then the four "stand by weeks", as he called them, and then . all that. He had still planned to bring it up, when the time was right, but if Josh wanted to do this now, he supposed he could allow that. This said, now that his friend had put the question out in the open, he didn't know what to say anymore. He also was very scared to find out that nothing they could do would salvage their relationship at this point. He finally said, "You've been great during . all this."  
  
"After months of being . not so great."  
  
"Josh ." he said, wondering why Josh wanted to do this now.  
  
His friend smiled weakly. "I don't know where to begin." He smiled, obviously trying to diffuse the tension. "Come on, something awful happened, aren't we supposed to, I don't know, re evaluate our relationship, apologize to each other, and all that stuff?"  
  
Sam smiled, to show he appreciated the effort. "I don't know that we're * supposed * to, but we can, sure."  
  
They fell silent again, and Sam said lightly, "You know, it's going to involve talking, eventually."  
  
There was another long silence, and as Josh was about to say something, Sam asked, almost fearfully, "Do you regret bringing me on the campaign?"  
  
If Josh was surprised by the question, he didn't show it. "I . yes, sometimes, I do. Because you've changed, you've become . I don't know, I think, less enthusiastic, less, you. Less young, I guess."  
  
"For crying out - " Sam groaned. "Josh, I didn't become all those things because of you, I * am * older, you know. And who the hell made you my keeper anyway?"  
  
Josh didn't find anything to answer, and Sam went on. "I have the feeling you don't trust me anymore, I think you're feeling guilty, and . are we still friends, Josh?"  
  
"I ." Josh opened his mouth, and closed it again. "I never really thought about it," he finally admitted.  
  
"I did. And I think we're . Josh, you've done things I disapproved of, and I have the feeling our philosophies are a lot more different than they were four years ago. I don't know which one of us changed, and in which direction, and when, but I think if we don't even respect each other anymore - "  
  
"I respect you!" Josh protested. "God, after what you've through - "  
  
"If you respected me, you would have said something about the Hoynes meeting," he said. "You would have yelled at me after the tape, because it was an amateurish mistake. You didn't even think enough of me to do that, did you? I'm not talking about our respective stays in a hospital, Josh. I'm talking about all the rest. Our jobs. Our lives. We've drifted apart."  
  
"How much time did you spend thinking about all this?" Josh wondered.  
  
"I've had time to think," he pointed out, aware that he sounded bitter and not really caring about that. "And hey, I've always had a tendency to over analyze everything."  
  
"So what now?" Josh wondered.  
  
"Was I punished for the way I reacted to the MS thing?"  
  
"Punished?"  
  
"Did you .I don't know how to put this, did you avoid me because I didn't react to the President's disclosure better?"  
  
What he really wanted to know was, "Did you shut me out because you thought I didn't have the right to react the way I did and you were embarrassed to have brought me aboard? " but he didn't dare to ask that. Not yet.  
  
Josh looked horrified now, and his adamant, "No," filled the room. "Sam, it wasn't like that."  
  
"Then why?"  
  
"I don't know!" Josh shouted. "I . we were running a campaign, I was dating Amy - "  
  
"On the first campaign, you were dating Mandy. It didn't stop us from socializing," Sam said mercilessly.  
  
He fleetingly wondered whether he'd follow Josh again if he came seeking him now.  
  
Probably not, he thought.  
  
Sam knew that he had always had a slight case of hero worship toward Josh. When they'd met, he was older, wiser, more experienced in the ways of the political world. He had mentored Sam for a while, and Sam had taken everything Josh said as The Truth. He hadn't questioned Josh's methods, or knowledge, back then, because he wasn't equipped to.  
  
Then they'd moved on with their lives, separately, and when they'd begun to work together again on the campaign, Sam had soon discovered that not everything Josh said was true. Maybe it was because he himself was more experienced - failed or not, his union with Lisa had taught him a few things about life, and about himself and his goals, just like every relationship does, and he had made some experience for himself, and now he could see the errors of Josh's way.  
  
He hadn't said anything back then, but more and more, he could see that Josh and him didn't agree on everything anymore. Or rather, they never had, but now he realized that.  
  
What's more, looking at Josh on the chair next to his bed, Sam now had the feeling that Josh had done pretty much what Lisa had done : he had tried to make Sam fit the image he had of him. He had pictured Sam as the idealist, and he had tried to force him to stay in that role, even after Sam had been more than ready to move on. He still had principles, and he was still willing to fight for them, but most of these principles had little to do with protecting the President now. He wanted to do what was right, no matter what the consequences, just like he had at the beginning. But there was a presidency to consider, and he was less willing to make the concessions than he had been before.  
  
He knew they had to compromise, he knew it was the way politics, and the world at large, worked. Simply, he wondered if they really tried to fight anymore. Weren't they working under the assumption that they would have to tone down what they wanted to accomplish anyway? Was it the reason they so often accepted the compromises?  
  
But that was a debate for another time, Sam reflected.  
  
"I.we disappointed you," Josh said. Sam raised an eyebrow, silently urging him to go on. "I guess . I guess I wanted you as far away from the mess as possible. I knew you were going to get hurt by the President's lies, and by what we were going to have to do, and -"  
  
Sam interrupted him. "Didn't it occur to you that I'd get over it, eventually?"  
  
"At what price?"  
  
"What do you want from me?" Sam exclaimed, sitting up straighter, not paying attention to the resulting flash of pain. "You're acting as if I don't have the right to change, as if I have the stay the youngest one, the idealistic one, forever. I grew up, you know."  
  
"I'm sorry," Josh said. "You've always been, as long as I've known you, you've always been a constant in my life. You're the one who tells me when I'm right, when I'm wrong, and what I should do. I didn't want you to become bitter. I ."  
  
"You didn't want me to change," Sam completed, surprised at his friend's admission.  
  
"No." A small silence, then, "That wasn't very fair to you, was it?"  
  
"No," Sam answered. "And if I may, you've got a strange way to treat your friends. Because you didn't want me to get hurt, you shut me out. What do you think it did to me?"  
  
"I'm the one who came to New York. You could have gotten married. You could have had a life."  
  
And so, Sam thought, his friend had been feeling guilty. And to avoid having to look at his failures, real or not, he had walked away.  
  
"You don't know that," Sam said dryly.  
  
"There was a time when you didn't doubt what I told you," Josh pointed out.  
  
"I didn't know you well," Sam replied. Josh grimaced and he immediately felt awful. "I didn't mean it that way. I meant that not everything you say is right. And there was a time when you admitted that."  
  
Josh smiled slightly. "So I've been told. You turned to Toby."  
  
The non sequitur surprised Sam. "Excuse me?"  
  
"That's when I started wondering what had happened between us. You turned to him after the tape, you turned to him after you were shot. I was surprised that you didn't ask for me."  
  
Sam, at a loss for words, gestured for him to go on.  
  
"I expected you to come to me."  
  
Sam sighed. "I felt bad, I felt depressed and . recently, I mean, before all that, when you didn't look at me with contempt, it was with annoyance. I can guess that you weren't comfortable around me anymore, but ."  
  
Josh was looking down at his feet. "And you thought I would - "  
  
Yes, he had thought that his friend would be judgmental. Maybe he had been wrong, but, "I wasn't willing to take the chance that you would."  
  
Josh nodded. "What now?"  
  
Good question. Their relationship was bound to change - it already had, actually. They had to find out where they stood in each other's lives now.  
  
"There's a game starting in half an hour," Sam said, gesturing to the TV.  
  
They had to start somewhere, he thought.  
  
"Will you turn to me more often?" Josh asked, smiling hopefully.  
  
"Will you stop running away when you see me in a hallway?"  
  
"I'll go grab something to eat."  
  
"Okay." Sam smiled, watching his friend go. "Okay." 


	12. Part Eleven

PART ELEVEN  
  
Sam was sitting in the passenger seat of Toby's car. His boss was taking him home, after what felt like years, but had only been two and a half weeks.  
  
He would be back at the hospital soon enough, he knew. The planning of his appointments was tight, especially in the first few weeks. But it felt good to be on the road to -  
  
"Hum, Toby, this isn't the way to my place," he pointed out.  
  
"No," his boss answered.  
  
He sighed. He was tired already, he hadn't had that much activity in weeks, he wanted to go to bed. "Where are we going?" he asked.  
  
"To my place," his boss said as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "You'll stay there for a while."  
  
"Excuse me, since when?" he snapped.  
  
Toby shot a look at him, swore softly, and looked for a parking space. Once the car had stopped, he unbuckled his belt and turned to face Sam. "Calm down, please, you're white as a sheet," he said.  
  
"Toby, I really - "  
  
Toby put a hand up and he quieted down.  
  
"Sam, you live on the third floor, without an elevator. We brought a few things from your place to mine, and when you're up to it, you'll move back to your place."  
  
He stared at Toby, stunned.  
  
They could have consulted him, he thought.  
  
Okay, so he had lost a lot of weight and couldn't work up an appetite, he had dizzy spells sometimes, and he felt like he could sleep for days.  
  
That wasn't a reason not to go home.  
  
He could sleep home just as well as he could sleep at Toby's place.  
  
And they hadn't even asked him what he thought about their arrangement.  
  
He wanted to argue, but he wasn't sure he was up to it. He was already ready to cry as it was, and more than a little apprehensive. For all his dislike of the hospital, he was at least comforted to know that if there was a problem, he would be treated for it immediately. The move was making him more nervous than he would have admitted to anyone. And he had felt depressed for so long now that it was a real struggle to keep his emotions in watch.  
  
"Whatever," he shrugged.  
  
"Sam, someone would have had to live with you anyway," Toby pointed out.  
  
Yes, but he would have been at his place.  
  
And he had gone home directly when he had been checked out of the hospital after the shooting, so he had assumed .  
  
"Besides," his boss went on, "my place is ten minutes closer to the hospital than yours, in case there's a problem."  
  
"Fine, Toby."  
  
"And it's only temporary," Toby added.  
  
"I said fine. Let's go, okay. It's beginning to hurt, here."  
  
Toby watched him a moment, then started the car and pulled out of the parking place.  
  
They were silent for the rest of the drive.  
  
* * * * *  
  
As soon as they arrived, Sam headed for the guest room, letting Toby deal with his bags. He collapsed on the bed, curled up slightly, and closed his eyes, trying not to think. He was asleep in a few minutes.  
  
When he woke up, it was dark, and he could hear that the TV was on in the living room. He fumbled for the light and blinked a little to adjust his eyes to the brightness.  
  
Then he took in his surroundings, and he did a double take.  
  
When had Toby's guest room become that comfortable?  
  
He had slept here once, when his boss had had to choose between driving a drunk Sam to his own place, at the risk of seeing him throw up on the carpet of the car, or take him home with him, and give him a bucket. He had opted for the second approach, and back then, Sam had noticed that all the guest room contained was a bed, a nightstand, a lamp and a table.  
  
Now, his boss had added a few paintings on the walls, he had transformed the table in a desk, with another lamp, pens, a notepad and his laptop. He had also brought some of Sam's CD's from his place.  
  
There were even carpets on the floor, for God's sake.  
  
And the four Harry Potter books were forming a neat pile on the second nightstand. He smiled. CJ.  
  
And he would have bet that the frames on the walls came from Donna.  
  
He blinked back tears, cursing the violent mood swings he was suffering from, and tried to compose himself.  
  
When he felt ready to see Toby without breaking down, he went to the living room. His boss was watching CNN, scribbling furiously on a notepad. Sam stood where he was, waiting for him to be finished. When his boss acknowledged his presence, he said "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to ." He gestured toward the room. "Did you put all that together for ."  
  
"Yes, but look - "  
  
"Thanks, that's really . You took me by surprise. I . I hadn't really thought about what was going to happen next, and . You should have told me. Why didn't you?"  
  
"It didn't occur to us," Toby admitted.  
  
"Toby, I appreciate what you did, really. I just . I spent days having no control on what was happening to me, being moved from one room to the other, being too out of it to . Look, even if I don't have a choice, could you at least try to pretend that I do?" he asked.  
  
"I'm sorry, we hadn't thought about that," Toby said. "Simply, my place is closer to the hospital. And we didn't think you'd like to be alone anyway."  
  
"I wouldn't, but that's not the point," Sam said quietly. "I'd like to have some more control, that's all."  
  
"Okay," his boss said, then hesitated.  
  
"What?" Sam asked.  
  
"I kind of told the others they could drop by when they were done, do you want me to call them, and - "  
  
"Tell them not to come? Do you think I have a death wish?" Sam exclaimed.  
  
"You sure?"  
  
"I want to see them anyway. They helped with the, hum, arrangements, didn't they?"  
  
"Do you think I could choose paintings?"  
  
The image of Toby choosing frames in a store made him smile, then chuckle, and Toby rolled his eyes.  
  
"Your bags are still there, I didn't want to ."  
  
"Okay, I'll unpack."  
  
"Want some help?" Toby asked, and Sam was grateful to see that it was a real question, and that he could choose either way. A small step, yes, but a step forward nonetheless. He nodded.  
  
"Sure. Thanks."  
  
They grabbed the bags and as they were making their way to Sam's room, Toby said "You won't be staying here too long, you know. Simply, the doctors told us it would be a good idea to have someone with you in the beginning, in case you didn't feel well. And my spare room wasn't . Well it was depressing, or so CJ and Donna said, and you know how those two are when they set their mind on something."  
  
"I know. Thanks," Sam said.  
  
Toby nodded, and they began to unpack.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Two weeks later  
  
Toby entered the apartment as quietly as he could, careful not to make a noise. He shouldn't have bothered, Sam's voice greeted him. "Toby?"  
  
"Yes. Why aren't you sleeping?" he asked.  
  
His deputy had had some bad nights recently, waking up screaming, and unable to go back to sleep, even after taking a sleeping pill. Had he had a nightmare again?  
  
Sam shrugged, and Toby had his answer. Sam tended to shut down on himself when he had a nightmare, uncommunicative, either depressed or angry.  
  
He swallowed back a sigh. He was tired, but Sam really looked bad this night, curled up on the couch in front of the TV, clutching a pillow on his stomach, his hair mussed.  
  
"Want to talk about it?" he offered.  
  
Sam shook his head, and Toby went put his bags in his room. The senior staff had had to go with the President on a trip to London. Everyone was needed, so Sam had had to stay alone. The First Lady had proposed to make him come over at the Residence, but Sam had protested adamantly. Toby had hesitated before supporting his deputy, but the memory of what Sam had told him the day he had been out of the hospital helped him choose. Sam needed more control on his life, he could have that.  
  
Now he was wondering if he had had the right idea.  
  
He came back in the living room where Sam hadn't moved an inch, then went to the kitchen to pour them two glasses of water.  
  
He came back to the couch and handed one of the glasses to Sam, who nodded his thanks, and sat up to drink.  
  
After a long silence, he asked "Why didn't you tell me about the car, Toby?"  
  
Toby looked at him, surprised. "What car?"  
  
"My car. The one they found back one week ago. Well, what was left of it, anyway."  
  
"Oh," Toby said, for lack of a more pertinent answer.  
  
"Why? And don't tell me it didn't occur to you, or you forgot."  
  
He sighed. "One week ago is when you began having nightmares," he said. "I thought it could wait, given the circumstances. I know you don't want me making decisions for you, but don't expect me to make your life harder than it already is, okay?"  
  
Sam nodded. "They're not going to catch the guy, are they?"  
  
"Chances are slim," Toby confirmed.  
  
"Slim? Even if they catch someone who stole a car, or shot someone else, they won't know it was him. If I'd only turned back a little - "  
  
"Don't go there," Toby warned. "Please. And no, they won't catch him. I'm sorry, for your sake, I wish I could bring you his head on a platter, but that's just not going to happen."  
  
"I know. I don't understand why he stole my car, shot me, only to burn it down later. What was the point, really?"  
  
"The police thinks he may have used it to transport drugs, or to rob a bank. He'd have needed a stolen car to do that."  
  
"Yeah, or it could be kids who made a bet," Sam spat. "Or someone who recognized me and didn't like politicians. Or . whatever."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I'd feel better if he was dead. Or in jail."  
  
"I know," Toby said, wishing there was something he could do about that.  
  
Sam tried to hide a yawn, and Toby smiled. "Go sleep, okay?"  
  
"Yeah," Sam sighed, heading to his room.  
  
"Call me if you need something," Toby said.  
  
"I will. I will."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Sam's apartment October 2002  
  
Sam tied his tie, and studied his reflection in a mirror. He hadn't regained all the weight he had lost after the shooting yet, and his hair was too long. Not by much, but he would be getting a few "You need a haircut" comments in the day, he was sure of it.  
  
Other than that he didn't see anything different. Why did he feel like a stranger, when he thought back to the last time he had been in his office? He fleetingly wondered if Josh had had the same feeling, then he grimaced. "No dwelling," he admonished himself.  
  
He took his briefcase, absurdly reassured by the comfortable feeling of the handle. He wasn't sure he liked the way it made him feel more professional, like he was a freshman who got out of his home State for the first time.  
  
A few knocks on the door made him smile. He was sure Toby would come see him.  
  
He opened the door, and found himself in front of Josh, who was smiling so widely his cheeks * had * to hurt. He raised an eyebrow, surprised to see his friend there.  
  
"I came to take you to work," Josh said brightly. "So you don't get lost."  
  
He almost protested, then decided that it would probably ease the transition if someone was with him.  
  
He had already worked on a few light projects Toby had handed him in the last few weeks, but all the work had been done by phone and fax. And there had been two gatherings at the Residence, once with the First Couple, the other with the senior staff. But today was the day he officially got his office back, and he was hating himself for being so nervous.  
  
Josh talked non stop during the drive, trying to diffuse the tension, and Sam found himself laughing at quite a few of his jokes. Their relationship had evolved into an easy co-operation, but there were still times when they treated each other a little too carefully for it to look natural. CJ and Toby had noticed, of course, but Sam hadn't given them too many details. At least the tension between Josh and him had diminished, and he didn't ask for more.  
  
The guard welcomed him at the gate, and almost every one he passed by insisted on hugging him, and on telling him a quick "Good to see you" before heading away.  
  
By the time they reached the communication's bullpen, he had the feeling he had been hugged by the totality of DC's population. To his eternal relief, his co workers hadn't set up a surprise party. They all seemed to understand he wanted to keep it quiet. Most of them came to embrace him, Ed and Larry made a show of kneeling in front of him, begging him to save them from Toby's "dictatorship", and Bonnie and Ginger seemed suspiciously moist eyed to him, but they all kept their welcome sober, which was exactly what he wanted.  
  
Toby came out of his office, and finished putting him at ease by handing him a file. "Sam, this is the environment thing, get on it now."  
  
"Yes master," he shot back, and he wondered what exactly he had been so worried about.  
  
* * * * *  
  
By the end of the afternoon, he was ready to drop. The President had asked him to stay after the first meeting of the day, hugged him (it was getting tiresome beyond word), and told him he'd missed him, and that if he gave them another scare like that ever again, he would be fired.  
  
Leo had taken him apart, hadn't hugged him (Sam had almost hugged him to show his gratitude), and had told him that if he ever needed anything, all he had to do was ask. Sam had thanked him for the sentiment, then asked for a raise, because he was close to tears again. Leo had concluded the meeting by "Get out now," and Sam had felt home again.  
  
He was going over the revisions Toby had asked him to make on the remarks the President needed when his boss appeared at the door. "Are you done?"  
  
"I'll be in half an hour."  
  
"Okay, but then, you're gone," his boss ordered.  
  
"Thanks," he said, choosing not to protest that he was still perfectly able to handle a meeting.  
  
Toby nodded once, and left him.  
  
Sam half expected to see him come back, but it was CJ who marched into his office, thirty minutes later.  
  
"I know, I'm done," Sam saved her to say.  
  
"Exactly. Get your things."  
  
Resistance would have been futile. He had no doubt Mrs Bartlet was around the corner, ready to threaten him into submission if Toby, and CJ and Josh couldn't convince him to go.  
  
"Tell everyone I'm going home," he said, rolling his eyes. "You won't have to gang up on me. Well, not today."  
  
"Good, because Nancy McNally was ready to participate too."  
  
Sam shot her an evil look and put on his coat, asking if Toby wasn't going to come.  
  
CJ shot him an innocent look and said that he hadn't wanted to give Sam the feeling he was being harassed. Sam had a sharp laugh, and she winked.  
  
She walked him to the exit, where Sam could see that a taxi was already waiting for him.  
  
"How was your day?" she asked, in her "don't you dare lying to me", voice.  
  
"Fine," Sam answered evasively.  
  
They stood there in silence for a while, then she asked again, as if she hadn't already asked the exact same question two seconds before, "So, how was your day?"  
  
"Good," Sam growled, glaring at her.  
  
"Want to elaborate here?" she asked.  
  
"I'm not sure. It was both easier and harder than I expected," Sam said. "But I may not be making too much sense."  
  
"You do. Go sleep now."  
  
"Hum, it's not even dark yet, CJ," Sam pointed out.  
  
"Do I look like I care? You're exhausted."  
  
Sam nodded and climbed into the cab, gave his address to the driver, and leaned back on his seat, smiling.  
  
He had just survived his first day back at work.  
  
And * that * was a big step. 


	13. Epilogue

EPILOGUE  
  
The next week-end  
  
Sam turned his head to face the wind, enjoying the slight rocking of the boat as much as he could.  
  
It was a great day for October - not too cold, sunny. Just what he needed to get the boat out one last time before winter settled in.  
  
Toby was gripping the rail, and Sam smiled. His boss definitely wasn't a sailor. But then, he had chosen to come. It wasn't as if Sam had asked for help, or had been unable to manage today's activities by himself.  
  
The doctors who oversaw his post-transplant supervision were happy with him. Everyone was keeping tabs on his health, too, making sure he didn't overdo it, he didn't forget his medication, and didn't miss an appointment at the hospital, and drank enough. He was finding his friends overbearing at times, but he was glad to have them. His recovery would have been hell without their support. It had been hard enough as it was.  
  
It was the first time he had been on the water since the attack. He had almost forgotten how good it felt. He had learned to operate a small boat very young, with his uncle, and since then, he'd found himself unable to go for a long period of time without sailing. Winters on the East Coast were hell for him.  
  
His friends had expressed . concerns, when he had told them what his plans for the day were. They'd tried to cajole him, to bully him, to corrupt him into staying home, but he'd been untreatable. It was probably going to be the most beautiful week end before the bad weather arrived, he had argued, and he wasn't asking for permission to do anything. He wasn't a kid anymore, thank you very much.  
  
They had relented at long last, partly because they didn't want to see him putting too much energy into the fight - he still tired more easily than before - and partly, he suspected, because they were relieved to see him passionate about something, anything, again.  
  
He had felt so down, these last few months, often keeping to himself, and only sharing what was strictly necessary, that they had been worried.  
  
But things were looking up, and he was ready to leave his fear of being sick again behind him. Now if they could the same .  
  
Toby had managed to guilt him into accepting that he come. He would have preferred to be alone, but he had to admit that he did that too often, so he'd finally caved in.  
  
And now he was leaving Toby alone, which wasn't the thing to do. But then, his boss had been a pain in the ass all morning, complaining about every single thing Sam did, about the movements of the boat, the sun, the birds, and he had had it. But still, he couldn't leave him alone. Besides, Toby would come himself if he didn't make the first step. He always did, now.  
  
Checking the sails, he made his way to his boss, who eyed critically the way his hair were coming into his eyes with the wind.  
  
"You need a haircut," he stated.  
  
"I know," Sam said, good-naturedly. "You okay in there?" he asked.  
  
Toby nodded resignedly. "You're enjoying yourself, aren't you?" he complained. "You're gonna make it last."  
  
"I didn't force you to come," Sam exploded. "Damn it, Toby, could you, maybe, refrain from spoiling it for me?"  
  
He bit his lip and Toby dropped his eyes.  
  
"I'm sorry," they said together, and they shared a laugh.  
  
"I shouldn't have blown up at you," Sam added. "It's just . Look, this is something that's been a constant in my life since I was thirteen. It survived Dad's affair, MS, my uncle's death, Lisa, and a couple of crappy birthdays." Toby smiled at that - Sam's reputation for having truly rotten birthdays was a well established one. They didn't even try to celebrate it anymore, now, they just wished him well in the morning, and prayed that he wouldn't have a nervous breakdown in the course of the day. "I love this, and . and it's been a long time since I've done something I enjoyed this much."  
  
Toby nodded. "I didn't want to spoil it for you. And you're right, you deserve to have a good time at this. You've been very patient, for a long time, with all your doctors and the lot of us, constantly on your back. I would have screamed a lot more often than you did."  
  
Sam chuckled, thinking back on a few times where the tenth person to ask him how he was paid for all the others - including the President once, and that hadn't been fun.  
  
Most of the times, he just told himself that he'd been luckier than he could have hoped for. But sometimes, it wasn't enough, sometimes the "Why me?" question came to haunt him, and usually, whoever was in the neighborhood paid the price.  
  
"That said," Toby went on, "you have to understand where we come from."  
  
"I do."  
  
"You scared us," Toby finished, ignoring him.  
  
"I scared me, too," Sam pointed out. "And I remember too well what it was like on the other side, when Josh ."  
  
"Yes, I know. We're worried, as we're entitled to be."  
  
"Sure. But Toby, I'm fine. Three doctors said so."  
  
Toby nodded, then said "There are days when you seem so ."  
  
Sam knew what his boss was thinking. Depressed, scared, withdrawn . He couldn't deny it.  
  
"You're fine," Toby said, and what had once been reassuring was now making him want to scream.  
  
"I am now. I can still reject the transplant at some point. In fact, I will reject it eventually, there's no going around that," he said.  
  
"Sam, most of the transplanted organs - "  
  
"Are still viable after ten years, yes, I know," he cut. "I'll be forty- five, Toby, and by today's standards, it's awfully young."  
  
"But there would still be another transplant. Or dialysis again," his boss pointed out.  
  
Sam didn't answer the first thing that had come to his mind - "If I still have the strength to go through that." And that was just the tip of the iceberg. He was more vulnerable to microbes now that he had to take an immunosupressive treatment, he was also more likely to develop cancer, he had to check his diet and he still saw far too many doctors for his taste.  
  
"Besides, who knows where medicine will be in ten years," Toby added and Sam had a small laugh.  
  
"I'd never have pictured you as an idealist," he said. Toby frowned, and Sam added "I know everyone's worried. I just . I want to have a normal life again. I'm not going to spend the rest of my life locked in my office, or my apartment, just for fear of what might happen. And it took me long enough to have the guts to walk in a street on my own at night, so please, don't discourage me."  
  
"You went - " Toby began, his tone already worried, then he smiled. "Oh, overprotective?"  
  
"Yes," Sam said, trying to make it sound annoyed. "It was just something I had to do. Because I know that the man who did that is still free, and we'll probably never know who it was anyway. And I needed to check for myself that he wasn't going to jump on me at the first occasion."  
  
"Where did you go?"  
  
Sam hesitated, and it was enough for Toby to understand. "The pizzeria, of course. You just couldn't take it easy, could you?" he sighed.  
  
"They were very nice. It was a slow night, they had the time to talk to me a little about that night. And I saw Lizzie and the others, too. I need closure, Toby. Is that a crime?"  
  
His boss shook his head.  
  
"Anyway, after the pizzeria, I came home, I called my therapist, and she arrived just in time to help me with a panic attack. That should teach me ."  
  
"You never told."  
  
"You were all gone for the Oregon thing. I was scared I'd bail out and call someone so I ." Toby was frowning at him and he relented. "I know, not the brightest thing I've ever done, but I - "  
  
"Needed to do it, fine, I get that," Toby said.  
  
They both stayed silent a moment. Sam finally spoke up. "I also wanted to thank you. For . you know ." He stopped, annoyed at the lump that had formed in his throat. He had always known that Toby liked him, contrary to appearances, but the way he had behaved at the hospital was above and beyond the call of duty, and he had never actually brought it up. He blinked quickly and went on, before he lost the courage. "For being there at the hospital, and taking me to your place, and helping me with the treatment, and - "  
  
"You're welcome," Toby interrupted.  
  
"Toby - " he tried again.  
  
"Sam, all I did was hold your hand. Not the most helpful thing ever. If you want to thank someone, go find the surgeon who took care of you."  
  
"I did," Sam said, surprised. "But, what you did wasn't nothing. I was terrified, and you were there, and it meant a lot to me." He stopped again to catch his breath, and finished, "And I wanted you to know that, before too much time had passed and it was too hard to say." To try to relieve the tension, he joked "I don't know when you found the time to do your work and being with me all at the same time, but I'm sure glad you did."  
  
Toby nodded, and said "I know you don't like talking about this stuff any more than I do, so let's say that I'm glad you're still there, and if I could help you, I'm happy."  
  
"Okay. Thanks." His watch began to beep and he rolled his eyes. "Time for the pills," he groaned.  
  
"Is it hard?" Toby asked.  
  
Sam almost smiled. Was it hard? Hell, yes, every single day. But he knew what his boss meant : was it hard to the point where he couldn't take it anymore?  
  
"When it is," he said carefully, "I remember how I felt when they told me that I was rejecting the transplant. And I remember that someone died for me."  
  
"And when that doesn't work?" he asked.  
  
Sam shrugged. "I have a few more rounds with my therapist. I write. I take my boat. I call a friend. And one of these days, I'd like to learn to pilot a plane."  
  
Toby's eyes fairly bulged, and Sam paused, enjoying his effect. "You know, two motors, something small."  
  
"You. Will. Not. Under. ANY. Circumstances - " Toby growled, and Sam laughed outright.  
  
"Well, maybe not right now," he conceded, when he had been able to catch his breath.  
  
"Under. ANY. Circumstance," his boss repeated, but he was smiling now.  
  
The watch beeped again and Sam shrugged and went down in the living area of the boat. He swallowed the pills and came back up to see Toby contemplating the horizon. The sun was going down, and the sight was breathtaking.  
  
"Beautiful, isn't it?" he asked softly.  
  
"Yes," Toby answered.  
  
Sam leaned on the rail next to his friend, and they both admired the view in silence.  
  
THE END  
  
*****  
  
Feed back appreciated at lazy.gege@ibelgique.com  
  
***** 


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